Born to Die
by Asrailefay
Summary: What if Breandan had begun to wage his war on halflings before Sookie was born? To what lengths would the faeries go to hide her, and how will their interference change her and her story – forever? **(Change one thing, change EVERYTHING)** A Sookie turning vampire story… An alt-universe, multi-chapter E/S love match (Now rated M!) Some SVM characters... Not Canon
1. Sweet Dreams – Eurythmics

_A/N: All thanks to MrsKroy who said "Do it!" when I said I wanted to start this story earlier than my original launch date of 5/7/17._

 _Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist. Chapters will be posted every two weeks. Chapters will all be long (5k+ words), so that is the only schedule I can commit to keeping. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

She had intended to kill herself, but I was not quite so ready to let her go, let her soul suffer the consequences of her turmoil – so I did it for her. Needless to say, she and I were no longer on speaking terms, and I could not help but wonder how long she would hold her grudge. But I hoped it would not last for an eternity…

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

After popping outside the small country hospital, the faery guard dropped his cloaking and stepped towards his prince, uneager to play the messenger for the news he was charged to deliver. He stifled the urge to despondently shake his head as the prince quirked a single eyebrow – expecting to pay for his discovery with his life seconds after the words fell from his mouth.

"And?"

The white-haired prince growled with just the smallest hint of worry laced in his tone, staring down his guard as if it could somehow influence the outcome of his simple query.

"It is as you feared…"

The guard steeled himself for a blow, closing his eyes despite his trainings to watch in seemingly all directions at all times – what did that matter now? He believed, by all counts, he was going to die, focusing on the events of his unfulfilling life – he should've been better to his sister. But the assault never came, and as he peeled his eyes open, he noted a stray tear trailing down his prince's face, knowing full well he should not comment or make a remark, averting his gaze to watch the stars sparkle in the Louisiana sky.

"We cannot leave her here," The prince announced, breaking the relative silence while simultaneously muting the crickets' twittering songs, "My son will dote on her, and foolishly seek to protect her by showering her with his attentions. Breandan will find her in less than a fortnight. No!" He yelled, and the guard finally snapped his head down from its tilt towards the heavens to find the prince's eyes teeming with a fiery resolve, "We will take her far away, hide her amongst the humans. Without faery interventions, she could remain unknown to my nephew's followers at least until she comes of age, develops her powers…"

"They will notice a missing child – the parents – I mean, of course, the parents, but also really their friends, the town, the hospital, the humans…"

The guard chimed in to offer unsolicited and unwelcome feedback, interrupting the prince and earning a fear-inducing growl, regretting his utterance only a millisecond after it occurred. He was rambling, and he knew it, but he could not bring himself to stop even though Prince Niall Brigant shot him daggers with his eyes, trying to slice him in half just by looking at him sideways. Darick trembled lightly, once again recalling the most relevant and memorable moments of his life – many scenes involving the very being he expected was mere minutes from becoming his executioner.

"I do not know what you speak of," Prince Brigant hissed through gritted teeth, "the baby girl has died, suddenly and without a savior. Such a pity when a human life is cut so short, heartbreaking, but I'm sure the parents can overcome this tragedy and soldier on..."

Darick's mouth gaped open as a contentious disagreement spilled from his lips, outside his sphere of control, "No, I just saw her, she is..."

"DEAD!"

The prince snarled, his features becoming harsh and monstrous, revealing his true form in lieu of the affectation he regularly donned.

Prince Brigant had given no credence to the "missing child" scenario – a plausible problem, a real thorn in the side of his plan – and quickly began to wrack his brain for an acceptable solution, outwardly scowling to mask his glaring oversight – the quintessential answer to every possible contingency popping into his mind in under a minute's time. A self-satisfied smile slowly crept across his countenance, reaching its full glory as he unveiled his ingenious plan.

"It seems we will need my son, Fintan, and his human woman after all," The prince admitted at a painstakingly measured pace, seeking to heighten the suspense and unnerve his faery guard, "Tell me Darick, what have you heard about cluviel dors?"

"Umm… well…"

Darick sputtered, unable to contain his shock – cluviel dors were akin to a faery death sentence. It required its maker to exchange his many years for essentially none, predetermining his own end by tying himself to a mortal being – shucking aside a Fae's most precious gift, an ostensibly infinite life. Despite being markedly powerful, only a handful of cluviel dors had ever been created – the cost of its magics too unpalatable for most. But outside of his own fears of the magical object, Darick was flabbergasted to hear the prince mention it at all, especially in the same sentence as his own son's name. If he had deciphered the prince's meaning correctly, Prince Brigant intended to sacrifice Fintan's immeasurable lifespan in trade for the protections of a halfling newborn. It was true that she possessed the faery spark, but her heritage could only be boasted as one-eighth Fae – at most – the rest of her disturbingly human, especially considering the amount of attentions she was receiving from the Skye Fae's prince.

What made her so special? That Darick did not know – and he did not want to know. Knowledge held a power he did not aspire to possess, content to live out his many years – or final minutes, depending on the night's course of events and the prince's erratic temper– in absolute ignorance; it truly was bliss, of that he was certain.

But for what was not the first time, the faery guard wondered if Prince Brigant had lost control of his mental faculties, if his old age – some three thousand years – had finally consumed any last modicum of sanity he had been clinging to after the eternity he had already experienced. Surely, he could not mean to exchange his son for the girl, his reputation – even his people's safety, if Breandan were to discover the ruse – for a mostly human baby. Darick did not align his interests with the pureblood's war, but he harbored, albeit small, suspicions that the prince's nephew was not altogether wrong in his presumption that dilution of the purity of the Fae race, breeding with mortals to produce progeny, had angered the Gods, bringing forth the wave of infertility that afflicted all but a handful of faery females.

Such thoughts Darick kept to himself, understanding clearly that the prince stood in opposition of Breandan's machinations – if not previously obvious from his many impassioned speeches delivered to the other Skye Fae, then from his current quest to save the Stackhouse girl a forfeiture of her hours-old existence to the purebloods campaign against faery mutts.

Thwack!

After receiving a brusque smack to the head, Darick realized his prince had been informing him about the details and particulars of his plans while he had been lost in his thoughts, questioning the prince's possibly crackpot motives for going to such lengths for a great granddaughter he had yet to lay eyes on.

Hoping to cover his folly, Darick offered in response a stray concern that flitted through his mind.

"But how can a baby make a wish?"

Prince Brigant merely shook his head, disappointed he allowed such a simpleton to act as his royal guard while traveling to the Human Realm, amazed Darick managed to dress himself at all, let alone put together complete sentences. He wondered if Meridian, Darick's sister, shouldered the brunt of her brother's ineptitude, and he felt the smallest bit sorry that she likely carried that burden.

'Perhaps I should relieve the good faery woman of her troubles,' he posited as Darick looked at him inquisitively, genuinely concerned the prince's plan hinged on an impossibility.

" _She_ will not wish for anything; it is what _Fintan_ will wish for her that will protect her! Surely, Darick," The Faery prince pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes shut in frustration, "You can understand that babies, human or otherwise, are not imbued at birth with the skills necessary to devise solutions for complex problems like the one facing us with Breandan's war against cross-bred children."

"Breandan's going to win, isn't he?"

Darick said sullenly almost outside of his own accord, his curiosity demanding satisfaction, despite his innate desire to remain uninformed. He hung his head in defeat, expecting to bear the brunt of the prince's anger, and steeled himself for a blow that ultimately didn't come.

"He can only win if we let him, and saving her," Prince Brigant spoke self-assuredly, but without his usual air of arrogance, and motioned towards the hospital, "is the first crucial step we can take towards stopping him. Now… go and fetch my kin. We must make haste back to the Faery Realm before our enemies find us out in the open and vulnerable."

Darick placed his hand over his heart, sweeping into a small bow, and prepared to pop back inside, this time to abscond away with the child. He stopped momentarily as Prince Brigant called out quickly, an afterthought jumping into his mind.

"Oh, and Darick? Do not forget to grab something to feed her – surely a human hospital has a food source her small body will tolerate."

As Darick disappeared after giving a small nod to acknowledge his request, Prince Brigant's countenance bloomed a genuine and self-satisfied smile, the expression reaching his eyes, which danced mirthfully.

Yes, surely the Fates had finally stacked the deck in his favor.

* * *

Back in the Faery Realm, flanked by armed royal guards within the fortified walls of his castle's throne room, Niall cradled the swaddled newborn to his chest, protectively, and out of the reach of his son, her grandfather.

He watched as she burbled and gurgled, her mouth reflexively opening and closing – as if she was hungry. He imagined she was, and placed the nipple of a pilfered bottle of infant formula to her mouth, smiling as she latched on, drawing the mixed and milky liquid into her tiny form. Niall held her as he had held his own children as he fed them, being careful to angle the bottle ever so slightly to discourage bubbles. After several swallows, she hiccupped, formula spilling from the sides of her mouth, and he assumed she was, at least for the time being, sated and content. He handed the bottle off to his right-hand man, who quickly tucked it under his armor before resuming his stationary position, as the newborn slipped effortlessly into a dazed slumber.

Niall gingerly wiped away the remnants of her spittle with the sleeve of his byzantium-colored robes, careful not to rouse her, gazing down at her in awe before popping his head up to address his own child, Fintan.

"Think of the human folktale – the judgment of Solomon – my son. Surely you would not rather cut the girl in half – sacrifice her chance at life – just to serve your own selfish purposes. Let her have her life, her freedom from Breandan's war, protect her by hiding her, by masking her existence with a cluviel dor. If you love your human's offspring as much as you claim to, _prove_ it; make a cluviel dor – offer your long life in exchange for hers. For your service, the Gods will grace you with a second one in the Summerlands, and _I_ will arrange for your human and her family to gain access as well. Surely, this will remedy all your concerns and doubts."

Fintan could not shake the nagging feeling that his father had butchered the allegory, spun and twisted the tale to contrive and conform to his _own_ selfish purposes – although he could not glean the intent behind Niall's actions. Fintan had _partially_ read the tale of Solomon and his decision to cut a child in half to satisfy a pair of aggrieved mothers. However, at the mention of such savagery, Fintan had slammed the tome containing the story shut. He had found what he read of the anecdote so grossly barbaric and depraved that he had avoided the Human Realm for hundreds of years, in fear the astrocytic practices of a deranged king had persisted despite the passage of time.

Niall grew impatient for his son's answer, annoyed Fintan deliberated at all, clicking his tongue to count the passing seconds, earning no acknowledgement or response from his zoned out child.

The faery prince pivoted to another tactic to force his son's compliance, to remove any false beliefs that a negotiation was at hand. With a coldness in his tone that was not quite unfamiliar to those who did not know him so well – or even those who did – Niall growled out lowly through gritted pointed teeth; his true form moments from consuming him.

"Do this or I'm going to give her to Breandan."

His threat apparent, unveiled, and impassioned.

Fintan tamped down his shock at the dichotomous display, the juxtaposition of the doting great grandfather cradling his granddaughter snuggly in his arms against the regent who had unceremoniously threatened her life, suggesting she would be handed over to their enemy like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter if he refused to be cooperative.

His cousin, Breandan, was a coward who hid behind his inflammatory speeches and platitudes, blaming the ills of the faery people on an unknown force – an offense against Gods who had not spoken in over a thousand years. He had amassed a lemming-like army, and had proven to have no qualms against slaughtering the young in the name of his cause – Fintan's granddaughter would be no exception. In fact, she would be quite the boon to a monster like Breandan.

Fintan was not sure if his father was bluffing, but he was not willing to bet his granddaughter's life against the house – the odds so far out of his favor. Niall's touted three thousand-year old reputation as a man true to his word suggested that if he was merely trying to exploit his son's weaknesses, unwilling to actually follow through on his threat to throw his kin to the wolves, that it would be a _first_. Fintan expected today was not the day his father would deviate from form, especially under the witnessing watch of the faery guards.

As always, Fintan was powerless to curtail his father's machinations, and he hated it – even though he could not bring himself to hate his father for it. So he opted to respond with an emotional appeal, hoping to pluck at the flicker of humanity that hid behind his fierce and cold eyes – the one that he could see as Niall cooed and whispered his love to the baby child.

"How can you be so cruel? She is of our blood..."

Fintan pleaded with his father, searching his eyes for some shred of humanity - finding none.

Fintan desperately wished he could remove her from his father's arms, pop her away, and be free of his father's insane notion of benevolence and leadership – that an absolute dictatorship was of benefit to them all. Had his father not absconded with his granddaughter, put him into this precarious position – where he could acquiesce to Niall's request, or lose the precious addition that had come into his family not even twenty-four hours prior – he had intended to shepherd her away from the faeries' interfering ways altogether. He had planned to draw his human family into a cloaking of his own making, one that would exhaust him, but would save them from Breandan and his nefarious intentions – his desire to cull the realms, faery and human, of all halfings.

"EXACTLY!" Niall's voice bellowed through the space, knocking paintings askance and off-kilter; his fury culminating in a momentary gale force wind, "If you do not do this, we _may as well_ surrender her to Breandan!"

Fintan hid the shock that flooded through him at his father's outburst as the faery prince continued.

"My son, you are transparent to me… as are your ill-conceived stratagems. You are so blind to the failings in your own plans, so enamored by the idea of becoming your human family's savior – their white knight – that you have not considered that your actions will attract the attentions of our enemies, bring them straight to your human's doorstep. My son, a magical cloaking is so easily disabled – especially if the one providing it is struck at... you would be too tired, defenseless… unable to stop an assault at all... if I was not able to come to you in time, casualties could cascade out of control... you are a target as well as the girl… You would all be lost…"

Niall's impassioned speech trailed off, and Fintan spied a single tear dribble down his father's cheek – flicked away as quickly as it fell. And, in that moment, he understood his father's actions were spurred on, at least partly, by fear – fear Fintan and his family would quite literally meet his end at the hands of Breandan, who sought to crush Niall and everything important to him like bugs under his heel.

"My son, you must think with your head and not your heart," Niall offered with a gentleness Fintan had not heard since he was a child over seven hundred years ago, "You act from your emotions right now, but I know that surely you can grasp the ramifications of any misstep, the cost of your interference, if you were to attempt to protect her yourself. You would lead your cousin straight to your human family – to her – and he would rip them all to shreds, like a lion does to a gazelle, just to make an example of _you_. Imagine... just imagine if Lochlan and Neave got their hands on her instead of your cousin..."

Fintan could hardly stomach the thought.

Lochlan and Neave were the most sinister beings among the faery people – of all the known supernatural races – a sick brother and sister duo, eager to join Breandan's cause not because they believed in his ideologies, but because there was promise of bloodshed and mayhem. The two thrived on chaos, leaving it in their wake wherever they went – that and a trail of mutilated and dismembered corpses. They had no honor; they had no master...

They were nothing more than unhinged, unrestrained monsters.

Fintan trembled, remembering how they had slaughtered the last halfling they unearthed, stringing up the disfigured body as a message to all who sought to quash, or simply close their eyes to, his cousin's war. No, he would never risk Adele's kin that way, lead his enemy straight to his heart's doorstep to tear away the family he cherished more than life itself.

Fintan realized, true to his father's unravelings, that his plans had indeed been riddled with flaws, and as he mentally searched for an alternative outside his father's maneuverings, he found none that promised better results than the one currently proposed. His newest grandchild would be mystically hidden, and his human family – because none possessed the faery spark – could continue to live their short years in ignorant bliss, unawares of the faery rebels that raged within the realm. The insurgents had no interest in those without faery magics within their bodies.

Now all he had to do was find a way to live with the guilt, but it was not his sufferings that mattered – he would soldier through. It was everyone else he worried for. His wish would bring heartbreak in droves as the belief the newborn had died shortly before childbirth washed through the town of Bon Temps, and anyone who had been associated with Adele's daughter-in-law's latest pregnancy. But some evils were necessary, to avoid worse ones; he thought to himself before agreeing to his father's proposition.

"I will do it."

Fintan said begrudgingly, knowing he had to if he did not want to lose everyone dear to him by trying to hold just one of them too close. In truth, his father's request that he magic a cluviel dor, tie his lifespan to Adele's, was moot – he had already done so years ago, the object currently residing in a writing desk, hidden in Adele's farmhouse attic, in the home on Hummingbird Lane.

"Good… good…"

Niall replied, his attentions flitting to the child stirring in his arms. He rocked her lightly, humming a lullaby he thought had been long forgotten to him, and in seconds, she drifted back to sleep. Once he was assured of her slumber, Niall continued in a hushed whisper.

"Of course, I will bequeath you a favor, one thing you may ask one thing of me in exchange for your sacrifice, for making a cluviel dor to save my great granddaughter from the purist scum."

Fintan dropped to his knees onto the hem of his father's floor length robes, overwhelmed. He had hoped, but not expected, his father would bless him with a favor – a highly sought-after reward in the Faery Realm because once given it became a magically binding contract that could not be rescinded. Without pausing to reflect on his entreaties, he beseeched his father, begging for information he felt he sorely needed.

"Where will you send her? Please do not deny me the location of her new life, not after you have asked me to trade mine. I will not interfere, but I need to know that you will not send her halfway around the world or to live out her years unloved, uncared for in an orphanage or a prison of sorts..."

Niall squeezed his son's shoulder gently after silently motioning with the same hand for his guards to stand down and leave them alone, so they could discuss the child's ultimate fate more privately. Niall bid his son to rise and surprised him by gesturing for him to come nearer. Once Fintan was close, Niall carefully transferred the sleeping baby girl into his arms, allowing Fintan to cradle and hold her.

It was a sign of trust, a show of respect that was not overlooked by Fintan, especially now that royal guard had taken their leave.

"Is this what you would choose to ask for? Her location, her whereabouts? My dearest son, surely you can acknowledge the folly that lies in requesting a piece of information so capriciously volatile, wholly unreliable to find her when she reaches the mature age of twenty-five, comes into her powers."

It did not escape his notice that his father had refused by omission to allay his concerns that his granddaughter may face an uneasy life; his and Adele's own contribution to her potential struggles long since forgotten.

But Fintan needed a way to find her someday more than he required peace of mind, so that she would not be lost to his family with Adele forever. Once any chance of a magical remedy had been negated, nullified by the wish he would make against the cluviel dor – the one that would save his newest grandchild from the evil faction brewing within the Faery Realm – his faery ways would be useless to discover her hidden spot. She would be effectively dead to the Fae's magics – impervious to detection – and believed dead by her human family – as safe as she could be.

"No," Fintan responded, answering his father's question, "I do not wish for know her whereabouts. My request is much simpler than that..."

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Geraldine Winters sat in her fluorescent-lit government office, papers stacked messily about her desk, the off-kilter fan spinning and sputtering its age as it offered a welcomed noise that cut through the pervasive silence. She sifted through file folder after file folder, hunting for the adoptive terms she needed to review with the prospective couple sitting across from her.

After several uncomfortable minutes full of unaccepted apologies, she finally plucked the buried paperwork relating to her latest case, her newest charge, and skimmed it slowly to ensure its correctness before proceeding.

In the short time Geraldine had fostered the blonde-haired baby – a rarity for her – she had grown to care deeply for the newborn. Personally, she could not fathom anyone turning down the chance to raise such a precious little girl. Geraldine believed in her heart of hearts that she had finally found right family for her; the Harding's were equipped financially, and otherwise able to create a little family unit much stronger than anything she could offer. In fact, the two were perfect on paper, an agency's dream set of applicants.

'They're almost too perfect.'

Geraldine thought to herself before she shrugged it away, admitting that perhaps her own desire to keep the girl fueled her few misgivings about the couple sitting across from her. In truth, something had nagged at her about them since the day she met them – when they instantly took a shine to her newest foster – but she could never place a finger on it, borne of nothing overt or alarming. Geraldine knew that even if she wanted to deny them, she had no cause, no justification – that she was making mountains out of molehills to stave off the depression she expected to follow her loss.

It broke Geraldine's heart to let the girl go, but such was the depth of her love – that she wanted only what was best, even if it meant it was not with her.

"As I mentioned before this will be processed as a closed adoption – the parents have legally signed away their parental rights and they have no desire to be found – but you must understand…" Geraldine swallowed hard, hoping she would not run off yet another couple, handcuffed by a trivial, but critical demand from the child's family that many had found surprisingly too unpalatable to accept, "Although custody has been forfeited, the family did so conditionally. They have made one stipulation in regard to the adoption, and if you refuse to comply, she cannot be yours."

Geraldine paused, watching as the young couple – hands clasped with one another's – inquired with their eyes as to the last hurdle standing between them and their new family, their baby girl.

"Anything!"

The strawberry blonde woman exclaimed, breaking the relative quiet and releasing the hold on her husband's hands to lean forward with her palms down on the desk. Her position was more submissive than aggressive, and out of place. While Geraldine had an inkling she should not overlook the display, she wanted to shepherd her charge into a new and better life, one with the well-off couple before her who had tried unsuccessfully for years to conceive a child of their own.

"Sookie…"

Geraldine sputtered out, overcome by a wave of grief as she realized despite the failures of the past weeks that she truly was about to lose a child she had come to consider her own. The young man's face contorted in confusion – a sneer Geraldine forced herself to ignore – as she back-tracked, explaining the meaning behind her utterance, even though she imagined it had been gleaned.

"If you want to adopt the girl, you must legally retain her given name: Sookie Adele."

* * *

 _A/N: (5/7) - Having a site issue. Next chapter will go up once the issue is resolved!_


	2. Dollhouse – Melanie Martinez

_A/N: Posting cadence is still every two weeks, but I wanted to give y'all this chapter early. Enjoy! Thanks to Mrskroy and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist. ** _Trigger warning:_ _Scenes involving physical and emotional abuse, also implied sexual abuse._**_

 _"Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light."_

 _― Madeleine L'Engle,_ _A Ring of Endless Light_

* * *

 **oXOxoXOxo From Chapter 1 oXOxoXOxo**

* * *

The young man's face contorted in confusion – a sneer Geraldine forced herself to ignore – as she back-tracked, explaining the meaning behind her utterance, even though she imagined it had been gleaned.

"If you want to adopt the girl, you must legally retain her given name: Sookie Adele."

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

In truth, I never should've befriended him. Looking back, I made many mistakes but that was the first, and the one I imagined I'd be paying for quite some time – probably for the rest of eternity, as Fate would have it…

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"Ad-dy!"

The saccharine-like soprano voice sung out, cutting through the dark night's silent slumber and dripping with stifled, but apparent irritation and concern.

Heard, but ignored, the melodious cry came again – but louder, "AD-DY!"

In tandem, a threat from a tenor's timbre followed suit, "Little Miss Adele Harding, you get your lily-white butt inside – OR ELSE!" Winds whipped wildly through the backyard trees, shaking the branches, "If I have to drag my ass outside to bring you in, you're gonna regret it!"

I didn't wanna go.

I liked it outside, tucked inside my plastic playhouse, where the rest of the world no longer existed. I looked at my little green suitcase, covered in sparkly, shiny stickers. It contained all the things I needed to escape, all I had in the world – my toys, some dresses, my little lantern… my life. I flexed my toes into my carpet of grass, loving the feel of the sharp blades against my soft skin. I wondered if I should put my white banded sandals back on before admitting defeat – once again – to trudge back inside the real house with my meager belongings in tow while my real treasures stayed buried in the sandbox away from prying eyes and greedy hands.

I never won at this game of runaway… because I never got away.

Well except once, but I'm not sure if it really counted since I ultimately ended up right where I started. When I was three years old, I climbed up some boxes to open the garage door while the babysitter was busy changing my baby sister's diaper, absconding away in the daylight with no plan of action. Truthfully it was not as if I had any awareness of the fallout that would follow from my actions, being too young to be capable of such foresight. As the story goes, I made it about a mile away before a man, clad in strange garb as if armored for a battle unlikely to come – homeless, my parents insisted he'd been homeless – picked me up and walked me back to the neighborhood that was on high alert due to my absence. I couldn't hear him, I still remembered that, wondering why his mind was a steel trap, impervious to my gift. Even as young as I was, it annoyed me and I wailed loudly my frustrations, my irritations mistaken for fear.

I'd always felt out of place and misunderstood.

But of course, I contributed to that. I'd learned early on, and without doubt, that secrets were normalcy; hiding became second nature. My mother knew I was special, that I heard people's thoughts, but she had cautioned me against sharing that truth with others – including my father. In her own words, she said, "You can't trust anyone, Addy. Not even those who claim to love you."

 _Claim_.

Her word choice was not lost on me, even at the tender age of five. But she wasn't the only one who believed that secrets were important. My father had told me that our _special times_ were to be considered our own, and that sharing them with my mother would be akin to sullying them, breaking any sanctity of love that stood between us. He had insisted that any modicum of affection he had for me would swiftly transform into hate – and I wanted to feel loved, desperately, so I kept my mouth shut. But as the years wore on, I wondered what his attentions truly meant, if they were normal or sordid – even after they stopped.

I never did decide.

As I approached the age of eight, I understood something was amiss in my world, and began to recognize that my 'runaway' moments to the backyard were something more than simply play, born of a desire to _actually_ get away. Not that I ever would. For years, I had continually packed my little green suitcase, stealing away to the plastic structure that served as my fortress against the real world, despite the fact I had long outgrown its small size meant for toddlers and not so much adolescents. Even though I had to duck to fit inside, I needed my fantasy so I soldiered through my discomfort, ignoring my small aches and pains. But then, of course, more often than not the real world came to call, ripping me from my imaginative life where magics existed, but monsters did not – and tonight was no exception.

"ADDY!"

The shrill scream was practically deafening as it echoed into the night.

"I'm coming!"

I responded at a crescendoing volume despite trying to tamp down my irritation at the interruption of my twilight playworld. My green suitcase was suspended against my side, hanging in my right hand as I bounded through the backyard towards the backdoor, the unavoidable loss of freedom all I could think about. My bare feet scraped against the concrete as I reached the back porch, testing the strength of my callouses. Instantly I regretted leaving my sandals inside my playhouse, fearing it was a mistake I'd pay for many times over.

My father met me, blocking my path by standing in the door's threshold, glowering at me with piercing cold, brown eyes. I approached him with caution, slowing my run to a veritable crawl, searching his mind for some indication of the trouble I found myself in. I'd mastered my telepathy quickly, once I realized it was that or live in the scary head of my father.

Per usual, I didn't like what I found – a garbled mess of angry and jumbled thoughts, mostly about wanting to show me once and for all what happened to disobedient children. I was terrified, but I refused to let my mutinous tears fall, knowing they would anger him further. We weren't allowed to cry in his household – one among the many draconian rules imposed on the meant-to-be picture perfect Harding girls.

Dolls.

We reminded people of cute little pale-faced china dolls.

Daddy's two little bundles of pride and joy. As long as we were smiling, playing along. God help us when the masks slipped – ours… and his.

My father moved the smallest bit to the side so I could squeeze through, and I momentarily considering running in the other direction, back into the darkness, but I didn't, inexplicably trusting my safety to the monster in my path. He didn't grab at me as I passed by him – but he didn't have to; he was scary enough without becoming physical.

"Good little girls come when they are called," He snarled at me while still donning a fake and unnerving smile, ushering me inside – his hand on the small of my back, "No supper for you, little lady; you lost those privileges when you chose to stay outside, to be bad."

I was hungry – ravenous after being denied lunch for a similar infraction – and I opened my mouth to protest, closing it before a single word escaped my lips, knowing any further display of defiance was unlikely to be tolerated. Instead it would likely be punished without impunity or measure and I did _not_ wanna make matters worse.

They were already bad enough as it was without my smart mouth pushing them farther down the rabbit hole.

* * *

I woke up early to ensure I wasn't denied another meal, tip-toeing through the house and peeking around corners to check to see if I was the sole soul awake and conscious.

At least for the time being, I was.

I pulled cold food out of the fridge and debated the risks of using the microwave, ultimately deciding against it – too much unnecessary noise. Shoveling handfuls onto a plate, I walked it over to the table and set it down before gingerly picking up the wooden chair and placing it about a half a foot back so I could sit to eat. I kept one ear perked to listen for any stirrings from my parents' bedroom, wondering if my mother was, in fact, home at all – hearing just one heavy breath. My rumbling tummy finally stilled as I devoured the chilly sustenance quickly. Feeling victorious and slightly satiated, I found myself instantly at the sink scrubbing at the bits of stuck-on food – trying to conceal any hints or evidence of my presence – the water pressure low and ultimately unhelpful. Covered in soap, the dirty plate crashed to the ground. I heard the soft snore stop abruptly, and an angry huffing fill the air. My hands shook violently as I dropped to my knees to collect the broken pieces, refusing to turn as I heard my father stomp angrily into the kitchen.

"I swear to God, you are such a troublemaker! You can't be good for even a second!"

He inhaled sharply, his tone becoming low, ominous – terrifying, "If you won't behave Adele Harding, you're going to get buried in the backyard next to your older sister! She misbehaved and look where that got her!"

My father screamed, and honestly I didn't know how much was an idle threat and how much was true. The dog used to dig, in this one spot, before my dad ordered my mother to erect a small structure to partition it off from the rest of the yard, make it impenetrable against the canine's ministrations. He claimed – that word again – that our old dog, the one I didn't remember having, had been buried in that spot. He thought our newest dog's actions were an affront to the sanctity of the old one's grave – and therefore they had to be stopped.

But my younger sister and I had our nagging doubts – even though we didn't voice them. Our mother had taught us that children shouldn't poke at angry bears, and we applied the lesson generously in our daily lives.

We hoped, of course, that there hadn't been some older sibling who had infracted on the status quo so much so that she found herself culled. But neither of us put it past him – the mercurial and towering force who ruled the household with an iron fist and ambiguous set of rules that hinged upon whatever happened to be his present emotional state.

Yes, we lived in fear and my father was no saint, but everybody's childhood was rough, right? I could only assume so because I knew from my father's insistence that I was most definitely _not_ special. I did always wonder why the other children in our neighborhood seemed so happy despite everything they must've dealt with at home. The things going on inside my house made it hard to smile, at least genuinely. Did other children know a coping technique that I hadn't been taught? Were they better at being a kid than I was? Why couldn't I have been more like them?

My father often wondered that, too.

"The French's children are _PERFECT_! Always so clean, sweet, and well-mannered! Why can't you be more like Madison or Kylie!?"

I pulled the porcelain shards onto my lap, collecting them in my dress, trying unsuccessfully to avoid cutting myself on the sharp edges. Blood drops smeared across my multi-colored frock, staining the blues and purples red. My sniffles pervaded the silence, and he snorted unceremoniously.

"Oh, quit your damn crocodile tears. Stop feeling sorry for yourself; if you _really_ felt bad, you'd try to be less of a disappointment. But instead you're just such a bad child, always so bad," His voice became a hushed whisper, as if trying to convey a secret, one he believed wholeheartedly I needed to know, "No, you cry because you _know_ you're worthless, and ugly – you're just so damn ugly when you cry, Adele."

I stood, walking to the trashcan wordlessly to dispose of the shattered remnants. As I returned to stand in front of my arm-crossed father, I hung my head in shame, letting my blonde cover my face. I didn't want him to see me. I had heard it enough times to assume I really did look ugly when I cried.

"Now…" He paused, reaching his hand down to sharply pull my head up by way of his manicured paw wrapped tightly around my chin, "Get washed up. Your mother will be home soon from her spinning class, and you'll upset her acting all blubbery like this. She's had a long morning already; she doesn't need any of your whiny bullshit."

He let go, and I ran back to my room, shutting the door carefully, desperate not to incur any further wrath. I slumped to the floor with my back against my bed, sobbing my eyes out silently – a stuffed dog clutched to my chest.

Not so long later I heard the back door open and close, signaling that my mother had arrived home.

" _Your_ daughter is impossible!" I heard my father hiss at her, not even giving her a minute to settle herself before he launched into a tirade about my lack of worth and his displeasure with my presence in his home. No matter how many times he said it, it still stung, and once again I wondered, why I couldn't seem to be good enough to deserve my father's love.

Because not all fathers loved their children unconditionally, of that I was certain.

"I'm sorry, Henry. I'm sorry!" Mother responded despondently, with a trembling and submissive tone, accepting the blame for my actions, like she always did. Guilt swept through me as I heard what I thought sounded like a slap, afraid to poke my head out to confirm my suspicions.

But my eyes shot towards the door as I heard it creak open, afraid my father was going to do away with me once and for all – my life was his to take; he had said it many times.

Instead I heard him yelling in the distance, and spied my five-year old little sister with her mussed up brunette hair standing in the doorframe, fear in her expression and tears glistening in her innocent blue eyes. Ginny crept across the room on socked feet after slowly, deftly closing the door. It didn't even register an audible click as she fortified our position inside my room. We were accustomed to being as quiet as church mice, walking on eggshells. She climbed into my open arms, settling herself cross-legged across from me, the toy between us. I covered her ears with my hands, and she did the same to mine; our foreheads buried in each other's shoulders and our eyes squeezed tightly shut. At least mine were; I couldn't see hers.

It wasn't an unfamiliar position we found ourselves in – the unfolding scene or our comfort seeking display – as we sought to silence the only slightly muted violence. Perhaps it would've been easier for us to handle, if it was.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"We're moving to Dallas!"

My father exclaimed cheerfully. He beamed at my mother as she sat next to him holding his hand, her delicate manicured fingers interlaced with his, at the dark cherry-wooded dining table off of the great room.

It wasn't up for debate – nothing was – but I was desperate to protest his decision, not wanting to leave in the middle of my 8th grade year, fearful of being uprooted and thrust into a more northern and bustling Texas metroplex. Pearland was all I knew, my home for as long as I could remember; it wasn't big or flashy, but that's what I liked it about it. Conversely, it's what my father had so openly hated about it. He was giddy that he had finally landed the transfer he'd been requesting for years – getting a big raise to go with it, an amount he was more than eager to share with us.

We wanted for nothing, spoiled for the benefit of my father's ego. He loved to be envied, for others to covet what was his, the things he owned – us. He also thought his extravagant shopping sprees paid for his indiscretions, his uncaged temper and subsequently empty apologies.

Sometimes, with the way my mother acted, I wasn't quite so sure that they didn't – at least in her eyes.

My uneasy frown must've been offensive to him because he verbally jabbed at me, the excitement dropping from his tone, "Addy, don't make ugly faces! You'll give yourself premature wrinkles scrunching up your brow like that. Boys don't like girls who look older than they actually are. You'll never get a husband if you don't even bother _trying_ to be attractive."

I was thirteen. I didn't give a damn what boys liked, and I definitely wasn't looking for matrimony any time soon. But good breeding dictated that I conform to some feminine ideal, so I smoothed down my expression instantly, donning a placid countenance. My father was pleased with my actions, flashing me a toothy grin – a real and genuine one.

"There. You should see how much prettier you look when your face's not all contorted and gross," He turned his head to look at my mother, "She looks so pretty now; doesn't she, Paige?" She nodded her agreement, mimicking his broad smile, a sparkle dancing behind her eyes.

We all liked him better when he was like this – mostly happy and carefree.

"Thank you."

I replied as sweetly as I could muster after my mother kicked me with the toe of her pointy heel. 'That's probably going to bruise,' I thought as I released a soft sigh, hating that I'd be sporting another unexplainable bruise. The raised eyebrow from the school's nurse didn't exactly indicate she believed my cover story – that I was little more than a clumsy tree-climber. Not that it was an out-and-out lie. I _did_ climb trees and I _was_ clumsy; I just never fell from them. Even though I definitely claimed to – an awful lot.

Secrets were second nature to my family; they came much more easily than the truth ever did. In fact, I hadn't confided anything about my home life to anyone in Pearland, or gotten past the acquaintance level of friendship. I wondered why I was so against the move; it wasn't like it was going to disrupt my non-existent social life. No one but my sister had gotten even a glimpse of the _real_ me anyways – and she was coming with me – so what did I really have to lose?

Not one damn thing.

I thought as I said, "Dallas sounds great, Dad. Doesn't it, Ginny?"

My little sister, whose ten-year old self had growth-spurted to nearly my own height in the past year, nodded her wordless and faked agreement, tears spilling down her cheeks. Our parents either didn't see her sadness or they ignored it because her infraction passed without comment.

"Of course it sounds great!" My father boasted, " _All_ my ideas are great ideas."

He threw his head back in uproarious laughter, and I knew I for one didn't understand what was supposed to be so funny. I lifted from my seat at the table and walked my plate to the sink. I rinsed it quickly before slipping it into the dishwasher, flashing back to the last time I had broken a plate, remembering momentarily why I always took such care never to break another one. I flinched, steadying my quickening breath before I pivoted on my heel to see my father's joyous smile threatening to break into a small frown. I practically ran back to my seat and dropped my telepathic shields to root around inside his head, launch a preemptive strike so to speak.

I was glad I did.

Because no one was laughing _with_ him, my father was beginning to think that meant we were laughing _at_ him. He came to the conclusion that if we didn't shape up post-haste, he was going to make us all regret our impertinence, our disrespectful display. Reality always looked so different inside his head, but his normally gray thoughts were now turning black. His monster was rattling at the bars of its cage. I couldn't just sit by and do nothing; I had to try to save us from the appearance of Mr. Hyde.

"Oh my gosh, Dad, I guess I'm just too much of a blonde sometimes!" I exclaimed, feigning stupidity, as if I had just now maybe gleaned his meaning, "Whoosh! That went right over my head!"

I swiped my flat, rigid palm over my head to punctuate my words, letting my small giggle erupt into hysterical laughter, praying he wouldn't take offense at my placating actions. My mother joined in, correctly interpreting the cause of my strange behavior. My telepathy hadn't always made things easy before I learned to turn it off. But now that I could properly wield it I saw my gift as a godsend. I thanked our Father in heaven every day without fail for blessing me with it.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

My father responded, pausing to blow fake kisses to his adoring and doting audience – to us – literally imagining that we were tossing long-stemmed red roses at his feet as the dark cloud in his mind receded.

I asked to be excused from the dinner table, and my father granted my leave with a wave of his hand. He turned to my mother to describe the many banal activities that had filled his day. As I ambled out of the dining room, Ginny grabbed my arm, begging me to turn and face her. I complied; I denied my sister nothing, but my darkest secrets. I _had_ told her I was a telepath though. ' _Thank you,_ ' she thought loudly as she released me, and I responded with a quick wink and a small smile.

I liked being able to help keep us safe.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Our move to Dallas had been everything I expected it to be – an unmomentous blip on the radar that was my life. Upheaving my schooling mid-year hadn't been disruptive at all. In fact, my final months in 8th grade passed by with little fanfare. In the blink of an eye, my fourteenth birthday had come and gone and my first not-as-humid-as-hell summer was over.

On an overcast Thursday morning during the third week of August, I found myself peering out a car window, staring up at the institution that would demand most of my waking hours for the next four years. I smiled as I took it all in; my high school career had officially begun.

I tripped as I tried to step over the curb after jumping out of the car driven by my neighbor's mom. Apparently, my clumsiness was determined to get things off to a rocky start, and I almost face-planted onto the cracked concrete.

"Hey, I gotcha," a deep baritone voice whispered as strong arms settled me to my feet. I looked up at least a foot to gaze into rich hazel eyes, temporarily mesmerized by the lightheadedness I felt from bracing myself for impact. He continued, ignoring my wordless stupor, "I'm Jeremy, and you are?"

"Not usually at klutzy as this," I mumbled while chuckling. Then I corrected myself in a similarly joking manner while thrusting out an open palm to shake his hand, "Addy… Usually I'm much _more_ klutzy… in case that wasn't clear."

What else could I say? Somehow after fourteen years, I had yet to master the gross motor skill that was walking without falling.

Jeremy and I exchanged superficial, but polite pleasantries for about a minute before I was pulled away by the neighbor whose mother had given me a ride.

"C'mon, Addy! Get a move on! We're gonna be late for class!"

I said quick goodbyes, and bounded into the building, hot on Katie's heels, knowing she knew exactly where our classroom was located. Never was I so grateful to be acquainted with an over-planner. She'd traced and retraced her walking paths over and over in the weeks before school started, anxious she find herself otherwise lost – not wanting to give any indication that we were, in fact, freshman. She and I had three of our seven classes together, and different lunch periods, but that was okay, I didn't mind sitting by myself, being alone.

It was always better than being part of a crowd.

* * *

"Bryan Foster?"

"Here!"

"Cecilia Garcia?"

"Here!"

"Sookie Harding?"

Lost in my thoughts, I missed my name being read – not that anyone had ever called me Sookie in my entire life, not even during roll call. Had my mother been making special requests, asking my schools not use it? If so, she'd certainly forgotten to inform my newest set of educators.

"Sookie? Is there a Sookie Harding here?"

"What's a Sookie?" A boy in the back of the class sniggered, and I fought the urge to redden from embarrassment. My parents hated my name, which I never understood since they were the ones who gave it to me. I didn't mind it, but that didn't mean I wanted to go by it at school.

"Adele… I go by Addy," I offered without any inflection in my tone, sinking down lowly in my seat, hoping to melt into the floor. Laughter echoed behind me.

The teacher shushed the circling sharks with a flippant wave of her hand, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. She made a pencil mark in her book, and called my name again – _Adele_ Harding – trying to reiterate that my request was to be honored. But the blood was already in the water, and I knew I'd have to deal with being called "Sookie" for at least part of the day. Ultimately, it wasn't a big deal. All I had to do was pretend it didn't bother me and suffer their indignities for as long as it took. Eventually they'd realized their bullying tricks were of no use on me.

In his own warped way, my father had taught me how to shutdown people intent on trying to identify weaknesses in others so they could exploit them. It had been a hard and emotionally taxing lesson, but his method always worked, every single freaking time.

* * *

"Mom, I'm going to go for a run!"

I shouted from the kitchen doorjamb, waiting briefly for the 'okay' before sprinting off into the night, laced sneakers at the ready, my skin itching to feel the cold cut of the wind whipping by.

I'd survived my first day of high school unscathed, hearing the name 'Sookie' only six times after my first period class before the rumor mill churned out the message not to bother – because I didn't care. I said a quick and silent thanks to God, and to my father, for letting that potential maelstrom pass without having to resort to fisticuffs. Because another lesson I learned was that if peaceful measures didn't work on bullies, sometimes violence was the answer.

I'd never hit anyone before, but only because it had never become necessary.

I hooked a right to high-tail it onto my usual path, the long 9-mile circle around White Rock Lake. Settling into a comfortable speed, I jogged under the small lamplights that bespeckled the trail while bikes whizzed by at an infrequent clip. I slipped in earbuds, tucking my Walkman into the waistband of my shorts as Bach's _Toccata and Fugue in D Minor_ began to sing through my head. I dropped my mental shield to listen for any encroacher's presence, but not his thoughts as I let a meditative haze overwhelm me. Running brought me a sense of peace, and I reveled in the feeling, glad to steal away from my homestead every chance I got. I told my parents I had joined the track team – I had not – knowing they would never bother to attend a single meet.

As I padded along, a familiar feeling niggled through the back of my mind, and before I could react someone was running alongside me, motioning for me to stop.

I did not. Instead, I ran faster to increase the distance between us.

"I… garble garble garble… garblegarblegarble!"

I heard the stranger's muffled yell in my direction as I got farther away, and I stopped, pulling the music from my ears, letting the buds hang down at my side, the wires swinging like pendulums.

" _What_?"

I screamed back as I turned around, not taking one step closer to the figure I could now see was a young man – of maybe sixteen? Or seventeen?

"I did not mean to scare you!"

He called back, throwing his tattooed arms into the air as if trying to signal a truce, to show that he was not a danger to me. The tattoos didn't throw me, but the accent did. He sounded European for sure, but past that I had no guesses as to where he was from – the intonation of his voice was like nothing I'd ever heard before.

I wasn't really scared of him; I was more than prepared to fight for my life, if it came down to that. Plus, he looked to be about my build, pretty svelte – thin, too thin to be attractive my father often said to me. The stranger's expression struck me as curious, rather than menacing. But his 'white flag of surrender' moment hadn't exactly inspired me to hold even the smallest modicum of trust for him so I remained cautious and hypervigilant.

"What do you want?"

I hollered back.

He seemed content to stay at a distance, and I was content to keep him there.

"To say 'hello!' You are quite beautiful, you know!"

Now I knew he was lying – that he just wanted something from me, and I was not keen on obliging the presumptuous interloper. I responded after several minutes, worried that if I simply turned on my heel he'd continue to pad along behind me, wait for an opportune time to attack. I sighed; I really didn't want to have to beat the shit outta someone. So I tried to scare him off before it came down to that.

"I have mace!"

I heard him chuckle softly, and I tamped down my shock and irritation. What kind of person laughed when threatened?

"I am Ezra, Ezra Godric Gaulman. But I go by Godric, and you are?"

"Not interested!"

I did a sharp 180 to tear away into the night and get the hell out of dodge, but my two left feet had other ideas. I yelped in pain as my ankle twisted underneath me and I crumbled to the ground, scraping my knees against the still-searing concrete. I cursed lowly under my breath, wishing I actually _did_ have mace in my fanny pack, as I struggled to my feet once again. I tried to limp away from the teenager I now knew as Godric, but it was a pointless endeavor.

I hadn't seen him move, but somehow he had still managed to close the gap between us.

"I mean you no harm... Here, I can help." He whispered, his head hung low as he entered my personal space. He seemed genuinely contrite and concerned. He was careful not to touch me as he offered me his arm to aid my uneasy escape.

"I'm _trying_ to get _away_ from _you_ ," I laughed dejectedly, tears brimming in my blue eyes.

"I know, but I can still help you to do that."

I don't know why, but that won me over – probably because it was ridiculous – and I made the choice to accept his assistance. I placed my hand on his tribal inked arm, and he lightly gripped mine in turn to help me regain my balance. He must have been outside much longer than me because his skin was chilled, ice cold.

"Thank you," I said, peering into his eyes, noting he was about my height and definitely only a couple of years older than I was – although I was usually a terrible judge of age. My father's voice nagged me in my head, asking me where my manners had run off too. So I decided to tell Godric my name, giving it to him in the same delivery as he had given me his – almost, "I'm Sookie Adele Harding, but I go by Addy…"

He interrupted me.

"I do not wish to call you 'Addy.' Sookie is such an extraordinary name. I would prefer to refer to you in an exceptional manner, by the unique name with which you have been blessed."

I scrunched up my nose, not believing his empty compliments but not having a retort by which to refuse them. His request didn't offend me, but I still wanted to reject it. I wondered for a half second when I had categorized him as more friend than foe, shrugging it off. Even in close proximity, he had given me no cause to doubt his explicit intentions.

A stray idea popped into my mind, and I voiced it, hoping to even the playing field.

"Okay... you may call me Sookie instead of Addy," He opened his mouth and I raised a finger to indicate I had not yet finished – that my agreement came with terms, "But only if I can call you Ezra, instead of Godric."

In truth, it was a gambit, and I hoped he'd take the bait, sure he'd never let me call him by anything but his preferred name. I assumed that my condition would be a deal breaker, but color me shocked as unexpected words spilled from his mouth. I wobbled against his hold, unable to contain the surprise that rang through me. I regretted my earlier utterance almost instantly – concurrently unwilling to be anything but true to my word. What did it matter anyways? It was unlikely that I was ever going to see him again.

His brown eyes sparkled as if he had won a verbal sparring match I'd been unaware we were engaged in.

"Yes, Sookie; I will agree to your stipulation. You, _and only you_ , may call me Ezra."

And just like that, without knowing it, I'd invited trouble into my life – although it'd be several more years before Fate would force me to pay for my blunder in spades.


	3. Hey, Soul Sister – Train

_A/N: I'm aware it's not Wednesday, and that I am breaking my own 2-week posting rule - but hey, it's mine to break, right?_

 _As always, thanks to my beta Mrskroy and every single reader. The chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Outwardly, my first child loathed his new sister, avoiding her presence at all costs and acting to an extent as if she did not exist. He treated her as one does the dirt on his shoes, as if she were merely an annoyance, a trifling thing in his way.

But, in truth, I knew better.

He had been taken her with long before she became my child, and he could not stand to think that on some level she was not wholly unaware of his intentions towards her. So he peacocked, strutting around with his head held high, and pretended to be impassive and coldhearted, unaffected by her emotionless quietude. But I read clearly in our bond that he was more disturbed by it than I was.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Inhaling unnecessarily, I woke from my day death with banalities consuming my waking thoughts, expecting yet another uneventful night to round out what had become a string of never-ending and monotonous years. In my old age, I had become weary, immune to the excitement others seemed to fixate on. The world had lost all its once glorious and appealing lustre, its sheen, donning instead a palate bespeckled with many shades of gray. Everything, despite my heightened senses, felt muted, no longer vibrant or loud.

I wondered if perhaps time and I had become adversaries as of late, imagining the answer was easier than I cared to admit.

I tarried as I dressed, finding little incentive to hurry through such mediocre tasks to start on others as equally unexciting. I selected a simple off-white linen tunic, pairing it with some dark wash jeans. I pulled both on slowly, sitting afterwards on the edge of my four-poster bed for several quiet minutes before rising to acknowledge the insistent knock signally that the needs of my job had come to call.

My one respite in the drowning doldrums of dreary dullness was my duty to the Dallas night-dwellers. As Sheriff of my Area, I held a position of power over those hundreds of years younger than I, ruling my small piece of Texas with an iron fist, but a gentle hand.

I was respected, admired, revered – and bored out of my ever-loving mind.

"Master Godric," My assistant Sabine met me at my bedchamber door, carrying a stack of papers that likely required my signature, "You have quite the night ahead of you. Your schedule leaves little time for personal matters, but surely, we can squeeze in a little supper for you…"

"I will hunt later, if time allows."

I said, effectively dismissing her unspoken concerns. I studied her face as she digested my words, eager to see if her stoicism would rule her emotional response. She did not disappoint, belying nothing in her expression, accepting my statement with a small nod. She abstained from remarking on my lack of appetite as of late, although I imagined it disturbed her.

I had not partaken from the nest's small donor pool in over a week's time.

"The Sheriff of Louisiana's Area Five called at night's break," Sabine continued, rustling through her papers to extract a small note with numbers scribbled on it, "He insists he has Area business he needs to discuss with you. He requested you return his call at your first convenience."

She held the paper out to me. I walked away and towards my office instead of reaching for it. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied her tucking the message back into her stack before she followed after me. I opened the door, stepping to the side to allow her to enter first, leaving it ajar as I swept towards my desk.

"I will leave this all here for you," Sabine set down my schedule and itinerary in front of me before turning on her heel to leave. She paused in the doorjamb, her hand curled around the molding, "Shall I send in Isabel once she arrives?"

I nodded, and with that I was left alone to my thoughts. As I lifted the night's schedule, I could not help but think, ' _it is a different day and they are different vampires, but the problems are all the same_.'

In truth, I was not sure how much more I could take. Two thousand years was an unnaturally long time to spend wandering the earth, and I could not ignore its toll on me. I longed to simply lay down and die, like I had seen so many humans do as they expired; their bodies animated one moment and stilled the next.

I found myself irritatingly jealous of the creatures I had previously believed to be lesser to my kind.

"Report out."

I commanded from my seat at the desk as Isabel glided into the room, her black hair flowing behind her in shiny, loose waves.

Isabel was one of the most light-footed among us, and possibly the most elegant. She struggled more than most to appear authoritative and unbreakable – her place as my second often challenged, but never truly threatened. Unlike others, she passed as human with relative ease, beguiling them with her charms and perfected mannerisms. Her chameleon-like affectations would serve her well once she was called upon to straddle the fence between the supernatural world and the human world, once she assumed my job.

Because in truth, I had been covertly grooming her towards being the towering force I knew she was capable of being, because I intended for her to take over my position in less than a decade's time.

"It has been confirmed that Jasper crossed state lines shortly after night's break. Collin trailed not so distantly behind him to further reinforce that his crimes will not be tolerated in Texas, and that his presence is no longer welcome. Oklahoma intends to reject him the moment he checks in with his local Sheriff, and Damon has assured me he will meet his true death before sunrise – by accident, _of course_."

Her Spanish lilt pervaded her speech, hugging each syllable as it slipped through her crimson lips. Standing at attention, she continued to debrief me on Area news, offering in great detail the moves made by those like Jasper, who had been punished the night before, and the future grievances that would be brought before me as I held court.

It was unfortunate her maker had met his true death shortly after her turning; he would have been so proud of the vampire she had become.

"Isabel," I said with a punctuated wave of my hand, turning on my heel to exit, "I… have other plans for this evening. You will act in my stead for the night."

I did not have anywhere else I was obligated to be, but I wanted time to reflect, to be by myself. Plus, Isabel needed the experience, to learn firsthand how to handle disputes and infractions. She was capable, and I had every bit of faith that she would accomplish the task with the easy grace I had come to associate her with.

"Godric?" Isabel asked, in a fashion unbefitting to her station, as if she feared my answer, "Are…" She hesitated, her whisper-quiet tone belying her normally stoic countenance, "…you sure?"

She was smart to be afraid; she had indeed angered me.

Irritation rife in my tone, I bared my fangs and growled out, "You dare to question your Sheriff?!"

"My apologies, Godric. It was not my intent to challenge you," Isabel moved to sit across from me, stiffening against the plush red fabric of the Queen Anne chair, "I appreciate that you trust me to handle the court on my own, that you will allow me to hand down judgment in your Area. It is a great honor indeed. I only wished to confirm I had heard you correctly – that you would like me to take over your duties – but my word choice was poor and for that there is no excuse."

She did everything with a graceful ease, including lie.

"There is not," I responded, calm washing back over me as I caged my usually tame emotions, lifting from my seat to take my leave. Isabel nodded her head in deference, and I resisted the urge to give her shoulder a light squeeze as I passed her by.

"Oh, and Isabel? When you have a spare moment, give the Sheriff of Louisiana's Area Five a call. He has Area business he would like to discuss."

She quirked an eyebrow at my words; her confusion apparent, but unspoken. Isabel was more than aware that the Sheriff in question had likely expected to hear back from _me_ , and not my Lieutenant.

Because the Sheriff of Louisiana's Area Five was not just _any_ vampire, he was my child.

* * *

I wandered aimlessly about Dallas, traveling in no particular direction but finding myself by the nearest body of water – White Rock Lake. I kept to the shadows, finding their cover familiar, comforting. Still early on in the night, the trail still entertained more human exercisers than I usually preferred in such close proximity, but the water called to me so I ignored their presence. Standing close to the water's edge, down a ways from the paved path, I watched it dance and swirl under the moon's soft glow, allowing myself to slip into a trance-like state, a sort of downtime.

I inhaled slowly, deliberately, to allow the water's scent to wash over me, only to be bombarded by a pungent perfume-like aroma instead. It caused my knees to weaken and my fangs to drop with an audible snick. I retracted them almost immediately, suppressing the involuntary urges ringing through my body. I was shocked, but not dismayed. I had not experienced anything like this in over a thousand years. I closed my eyes and took a deep inhalation.

It was exciting. It was exhilarating. It was life-affirming.

It was a fairy.

' _Or at least a partial one_ ,' I thought as my eyes opened to search for the source of the smell. I discerned without much effort that it belonged to the blonde-haired beauty jogging down the dimly lit track without a care in the world. She was covered in glistening sweat, which explained why she reeked of a sickeningly sweet scent that was only familiar to the oldest among my kind. Who had abandoned this young Fae child in the Human Realm to survive among wolves and vampires? Did she know what she was, and how her blood would sing a siren's song to any who caught her perfume – caught _her_?

I doubted it.

She appeared defenseless and wholly unawares of her surroundings as she bobbed her head along to the music screaming in her ears. At least, I assumed it was deafening loud since I could hear her selection with perfect clarity – Bach? Such a surprising choice for adolescent humans these days. More often than not, the music deemed popular for this day and age assaulted my ears and made me curse my heightened senses.

I was intrigued. I was surprised. I was fascinated.

I was very hungry.

And the blood of a Fae would, at least for a short time, paint my gray world in Technicolor, get me high as a kite. Part of me itched for the sensations it would send through me, the life it would breathe into my otherwise deadened existence. But I was not a rogue, nor did I want to count myself among those who were, so I shrugged off the desire, caging my beast in the process. The monster inside me did not go easily into that good night, but it acquiesced all the same – I was its master, it was not mine.

I watched her from a distance, still very much interested in her even after deciding I would not partake in her blood. Risking exposure, I vamped up behind her as I spotted another of my kind making eyes at her, one I imagined was much than honorable than myself. I slowed to a pace similar to hers as I motioned for the vampire to cease his attentions and leave the young girl to her run. She misinterpreted my actions, increasing her speed to put distance between us. In response, the vampire clicked his fangs down, his eyes clouding black – like so many of us, he loved the thrill of the hunt, chasing down his prey. He had full intents to attack her, and also to defy a direct order from his Sheriff.

This would not do; this would not do at all.

I flew at him before he could pounce, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him against a tree.

" _I_ will _NOT_ tolerate defiance, permit insubordination!"

I growled out in his face as I snapped off a twig from the Cedar Elm. The darkness in his eyes receded as fear overtook him, and I knew he expected his final death. I was ready to deliver it to him; I could not allow news to travel that I had suffered his disobedience, let him limp away with his petty life. In less than seconds, I punctured his heart swiftly, and he crumbled to dust within my grip.

The paperwork would be a nightmare, but it would be worth it. The girl had her life, and I had temporarily shrugged off the boredom that had shackled itself to me. Small mercies.

" _What?_ "

The sweet dulcet tones of the girl's voice startled me as I realized that the volume of my voice must have exceeded the decibel of her music. What had she heard? More importantly, what had she _seen_?

"I did not mean to scare you!"

I called back hoping to sound more like a contrite human, and less like a predator.

Suddenly and inexplicably, I became concerned by the dust clinging to my clothes. There were remnants of the finally dead vampire all over me; how would I explain that if she came close? I threw my arms into the air to shuck it away from me as she watched me, her gaze not dropping for a second. Her expression was unreadable, and I wondered if I had by some twist of fate I had managed to avoid detection, if she had not actually seen anything damning or distasteful.

But I could not leave such a thing to chance, and I knew I would have to erase her memories, glamour her to forget me. Could fairies even be glamoured? It was a question I did not have the answer to, but I was going to find out.

"What do you want?"

She hollered back at me, making no moves to close the gap between us. Her body language was clear; she wanted me over here, and not so much near her. I concurred; her scent was more potent up close, and I did not wish for temptation to threaten my resolve not to harm her. So I did not approach her, remaining much too far away to capture her eyes. But I could see, even from this distance, they were sparkling, fathomless. Though she only looked to be in her early teens, she was already incredibly striking – a sure sign of her Fae heritage – and anyone could plainly see she was going to grow to be a stunning young woman. Something inside me begged me to tell her that, and so I did.

"To say 'hello!' You are quite beautiful, you know!"

I could not say why I continued to engage the human, even after _she_ threatened to cause _me_ harm by way of pepper spray. She even gruffly and rudely refused to tell me her own name after I offered mine. Her distaste with me was as apparent as my interest in her. It was as if _she_ had hypnotized me, and I thought perhaps fairies possessed skills above and beyond what my maker had taught me. Consumed by the concern that I had somehow been glamoured by _her_ , I was shaken back to reality as I heard her cry out, crumbling to the ground as her ankle gave way beneath her as she turned on her heel to sprint away from me.

This would not do; this would not do at all.

Vamping to her side while her head was opportunely hung low, I tamped down my surprise as she struggled to her feet, whimpering her pain as she attempted to limp-run away from me. I had been too quick to assume she had not witnessed the encroaching vampire's true death. If anything, her actions now suggested she had not only seen it, but she suspected what I was – a monster in the night, someone to run from. I needed her eyes, to push my memory from her mind, so I offered her my arm and spoke at the softest, most human sounding tone I could muster.

"I mean you no harm… Here, I can help…"

I did not initially seek contact with her skin, realizing if I touched her, she would transfer her scent to me, and I would carry her sweet smell with me – back into my nest. Her honeyed perfume could easily provoke a litany of murders from the youngest of vampires if I was not careful to scrub the encounter harshly from my skin before returning for the night. And then the frenzy would transform into a full-force bloodlust, a horde of vampires hunting for a single sugary fairy treat.

It would be chaos. It would be mayhem. It would be beast-rattling.

It would be impossible to protect her.

 _Why_ did I care so much for her well-being?

I had thought it several times during our short exchange, but each rendition resurfaced with additional worries and concerns. My behavior was becoming increasingly unexplainable, and I began to feel certain she had somehow charmed me with her fairy wiles. I did not know if it was possible – perhaps that _was_ a thing.

Fairies were secretive by nature, and to my knowledge had not graced the Human Realm in well over a thousand years. Rumor had it they fought amongst themselves more often than they aligned, and that yet another civil war had been waging for the past couple of decades. To my recollections, the grapevine gossiped that fairy-human hybrids were being culled without impunity. Was she actually safe? Did her kin know where she was? I imagined the answer to both was a firm and unyielding no.

"I'm _trying_ to get _away_ from _you_."

She responded to my aid in the most delightful way possible, and I stifled the urge to join her in laughing, noting the unshed tears the accompanied her utterance. I did not wish to upset her further. I had meant what I had said before, I did not mean to scare her.

"I know, but I can still help you to do that."

I said, earning a confused expression as she digested my words. I _could_ help her to get away from me because once I glamoured her, it would be as if I had never existed.

I was not particularly thrilled by the notion.

I spied the tension in her form relax as she reached out to grasp my arm, steadying herself against me. Her skin felt like fire against mine, and I felt unfamiliarly exposed, as if my temperature would give her all the ammunition she needed to discern my true nature. I gripped her forearm in turn, increasing the pressure ever so lightly until she stiffened minutely. I loosened it instantly, but only slightly. I had not handled a human in hundreds of year, but I remembered that they had a penchant for being breakable – I needed to know how much force I could apply without causing her damage.

It was not a scientific experiment in nature, but it had sufficed to fulfill its purpose.

"Thank you."

She said with a small smile, peering into my eyes with a conveyance of blind trust I had not expected. The smallest tinge of regret bloomed inside me as I betrayed her confidence, pushing my glamour at her mind. I wanted to know the name of the part-fairy girl I was going to part ways with, the one I had killed for – even though I would call that horse by a different color if questioned for my decision to deliver the true death without a trial.

But she surprised me; it was as if she had read my mind.

"I'm Sookie Adele Harding, but I go by Addy…"

It did not appear that my glamour had taken hold, and I was unnerved – also somewhat irritated. At two thousand years old, my glamouring abilities were second to none. And yet she had resisted them.

That would not do; that would not do at all.

I interrupted her, redoubling my efforts to capture her in my thrall.

"I do not wish to call you 'Addy.' Sookie is such an extraordinary name. I would prefer to refer to you in an exceptional manner, by the unique name with which you have been blessed."

She looked pensive for a moment, screwing her countenance up into another unreadable expression as her blue orbs became glassy, her gaze far off and distance.

"Okay... you may call me Sookie instead of Addy."

Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed she could be glamoured after all. Thanks the Gods. I opened my mouth to tell her she would not remember me or the events of this night, to remove all vestiges of our interaction. But she raised a finger to indicate she would prefer my silence, catching me off guard. I retracted my earlier conclusion.

Apparently, the answer was no, vampires could not glamour fairies – at least not this one.

"…but only if I can call you Ezra, instead of Godric."

She was so forward! She was so presumptive! She was so aggravating!

She was so… akin to a breath of fresh air!

I should have been offended, balked at her request and treated her as I was raised, as if she was merely one of the many human cattle that quenched my thirst. But I could not bring myself to do so. For one, she was other, a fairy, deserving of a station at least one notch above food, although she was not of my kind. But additionally, she had recolored my world, painted it with reds and purples and blues, as I looked at my surroundings with new eyes. Vibrant hues surrounded me, and I felt a renewed sense of vigor, like I _was_ actually the seventeen year old boy who stood in front of her, instead of the vampire who had stalked about the earth for well over two thousand years.

I did not care how she had managed to spark these feeling in me; I liked them. If she _had_ in fact glamoured me, I never wanted to be removed from her spell. I wanted to bask in her radiating sunshine forever, and if one day it burned me to a crisp? So be it, I would die a happy vampire.

Happy! I could not believe my outlook had shifted so wildly, so rapidly.

Irrespective of the singing ambrosia swirling within her veins, she was infinitely fascinating to me. She was an amalgam, a contradiction, a witch. She had enchanted my very soul, like a soothing balm to my misery. No, it was more than that; the feeling was not indescribable, undefinable. I had felt this way once before – a thousand years ago. Family, she felt like family. It was the pull, I could not ignore it, she was meant to be my vampire child. Not today, but one day – someday.

Mirth danced in my eyes as I agreed to the terms of acquaintanceship she had put forth, wondering if now she indeed counted me among her friends and not her foes. I hoped so.

"Yes, Sookie; I will agree to your stipulation. You, _and only you_ , may call me Ezra."

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Although my fatalistic feelings had disturbed my vampire child – the Sheriff of Louisiana's Area Five – the influx of joy and amusement trickling across our maker-child bond the past year or so had him downright distraught. His fears spiked as my happiness peaked after a particularly exhilarating field trip to Arlington with Sookie. She had unequivocally declared me her friend, and I had discovered, screaming my lungs for no reason at all, that I _did_ very much enjoy the thrill of riding rollercoasters at Six Flags over Texas. Sookie had assured me I would, and she was correct.

But Eric, my progeny, could no longer handle the uncertainty regarding my mental state, and when I rose from my day death the next night, eager to meet Sookie for our weekly run, Sabine intercepted me. Eric, Sheriff of Louisiana's Area Five, had booked my first, second, and third appointment for the evening.

When he arrived, I ushered him away from the nest – from the prying eyes and eavesdropping ears – towards the closest human running trail. Dallas had few wooded areas save those paths, and I wanted as much privacy as possible when I shared my intentions to take a new child, just as soon as she came of age. Plus, it was where I was supposed to meet Sookie, and I did not intend to cancel our plans.

"Fader, your feelings as of late, they have… changed…"

He was not wrong, and I was nearly desperate to explain why, to assuage his worries and fears.

"Yes, my son. After all these years, I feel the pull once agai..."

"Ezra!"

Sookie shouted, inadvertently interrupting me.

"You let that _human_ call you Ezra?"

Eric snorted, annoyed and slightly jealous, as Sookie bounded over to us.

She had discovered our hidden spot off of the beaten path of the Katy Trail with relative ease. One day I was going to figure out exactly how she did that, found me without trying. She was drenched once again in her sweet fairy smell, the product of exercise and sweat. Eric crinkled his nose, and growled lowly, instinctively. The glare I shot him carried a nonverbal threat he knew better than to ignore.

I had hoped after our initial exchange I could put forth a convincing, but subversive argument to Sookie that running should not be her preferred pastime, especially after nearly spraining her ankle. But my future child was willfully strong, and defiant, and I swore when I suggested she run less, she had instead doubled her efforts. I could not be sure because she had made one concession, larger in nature than she realized – now she only jogged at _night_ with me.

At least when the rubber met the moonlit road – literally – I could ensure her safety.

"Hey!" She panted out, her breath haggard and uneven, "What are you doing all the way over here?"

" _We_ ," Eric responded with a derisive tone, irritation cascading through the maker-child bond we shared, "were having a private conversation."

"Is that your dad?"

Sookie whispered to me meekly, her eyes wide in fear and her timbre shaky. I suppressed the urge to break out into laughter; her behavior would suggest she had not meant it as a joke.

My vampire son was nearly one thousand years my junior, but he most certainly _looked_ older than me. However, it was not quite so much of an age difference that he looked like he could have fathered me –if we were both human, that was. At the time of his turning, he was a young man, aged somewhere in his mid-20s, possibly seven or eight years older than I was at my change into vampire. It was hard to say with certainty; humans were less apt in those times to count the passing years of their short lifespans.

Honestly, I could not understand why Sookie thought we were related at all.

Irrespective of our meager age difference, my child and I bore little resemblance to one another. Eric was about a head taller than me at six foot four with blonde hair and sea blue eyes, a counterbalance to my brown hair and eyes. But given our mannerisms around each other, despite our physical differences, some _had_ questioned if we were family. But _no one_ had ever asked if he was my father; Sookie was the first.

"I am _NOT_ his father!" Eric barked back through gritted teeth.

The mere suggestion that she counted him among her elders, thought he looked old, had stoked the burgeoning embers of hate within Eric, whipping them into a fire – even though the two had yet to be introduced.

My son was not without his vanities.

Sookie relaxed instantly at his scream, and I wondered why it had relieved her instead of scaring her. I shrugged off my curiosity quickly; this reaction was consistent with the other eccentric behavior I had seen from her. In the few months I had known her, she had proved time and time again she was an odd little part-fairy girl.

"Huf- _fy,_ " Sookie quipped back, punctuating her syllables and craning her neck up so that her eye roll would not go unnoticed by my child. He had a good foot of height on her, but she obviously found his towering presence the opposite of intimidating. Then Sookie turned her back on Eric, effectively shutting him out – his anger swelled and I shot him another unsubtle glare – before she asked me, "So who _is_ this guy then? Is he like your brother?"

She was also none too impressed with him, it would seem.

"Yes, Sookie," I said, "This is my _brother_ … Eric."

"Well… y'all don't really look alike. That's why I got confused. I wasn't trying to be rude or anything…" She stepped back and spun around to face my child once more, "Nice to meet you, Eric. I'm Ezra's friend, Addy."

Eric's normally impassive countenance donned a harsh scowl as she thrust her hand towards him. He did not want to have to scour the scent of fairy from his skin; I could see it plainly in his eyes. I set my hand on her wrist and gently guided her arm back down, shaking my head 'no.' Her confused expression begged an explanation, and Eric huffed his incredulousness in response – huffy, indeed. I offered a little white lie to appease her.

"He is not too keen on touch."

"Oh, well I guess that's something you've both got in common then," she grumbled, no doubt remembering the numerous attempted post-run hugs I had sidestepped, "I can _sort_ of see the resemblance now. You know, if I squint real hard, and tilt my head to the side like this…"

She mimicked her described gesture, her balance wavering and off-kilter. Sometimes she acted childish, but in fairness she was still a child at fifteen.

"Different fathers," Eric stated, without providing any context to encircle his few words.

"Huh?"

She shot up from her hunched and catawampus position to gape at my son, like a fish does – she had often said. Sookie was a fan of idioms, and she suffered my misunderstandings, explaining them to me – sometimes with pictures. I cared nothing for understanding the human bastardizations of speech and its usage, but I never asked her to stop. Her faulty assumption that I had yet to assimilate into American culture kept her from asking _why_ I was so out of touch and out of time.

It was not as if I could tell her I simply had spent very little time around humans… until recently.

"You said we do not look alike. We have different fathers – that is why, _Sookie_."

Eric was pleased with himself. He had not lied to her; we _did_ have different makers, which one could suggest _were_ the vampire equivalency of fathers and mothers. However, I did not believe this was the true source of his amusement. He had _also_ blatantly ignored her request he call her 'Addy,' and he was reveling in the grimace she produced in response. I did not need our bond to tell me so; he was grinning ear to ear, like a jackal. His behavior surprised me. Eric normally did not let go or act out, as the humans would say. Sure, he would flirt with, and subsequently bed, willing young women, but I had never seen him act so… _childish_.

Sookie brought out the best in me, but perhaps the worst in my son and vice versa.

"Well _Andrew_ ," she renamed Eric, further igniting his ire, and this time the chuckle most certainly erupted from my throat, "it's been _real_ , not real _pleasant_ , but real just the same. Sorry to bother your _private_ conversation. I'll see _you_ around, Ezra, preferably once your brother goes _out of town_ again."

She finger quoted "out of town" and I furrowed my brow – no one had mentioned Eric's usual whereabouts. Such a bewildering human; would I ever discover her many secrets? And then without additional ceremony, her words hanging in the air, she sprinted away, her blonde ponytail whipping through the air as she vanished from line of my sight. I could only hope she would head straight home, away from potential monsters lurking in the shadows, knowing it was more likely she would not.

I spied a small smile curl at the corners of my son's lips as his eyes trailed Sookie until she disappeared.

I could tell that he disliked her passionately. She had challenged him and teased him, made him act like a child and feel like a fool. He wanted to frighten the sass out of her before ripping her apart, piece by piece.

His devilish smirk combined with the impish glint in his eye was a dead giveaway.

Inherently, I understood how he could abhor her so easily, allow his ego to drive his desires. After all, in his eyes, she was just some lowly part-fairy human that I deigned to interact with, who had overstepped her bounds and insulted him. He did not know she was important to me, the catalyst for my emotional shift. He did not know she was destined to be my daughter, one of our blood – that I would sooner die than let him hurt her.

I had to set him straight – once and for all.

" _That_ girl is off limits to you. You may find her aggravating, but I usually find her delightful. Tonight… you _both_ acted strangely, and I did not care for it one bit. Until she is turned, I cannot command her against such foolishness… You on the other hand…"

Eric stilled as I issued a maker's command, something I had not done in hundreds of years. A maker's power over his progeny was absolute, and whether or not Eric liked it, magics would now force him to comply with my wishes that he never harm Sookie, that he protect her as he would me.

"Fader, will she be your mate – when she is of age? Will you bond with her before you turn her?"

Eric whispered, consternation ringing through our bond. I shook my head to indicate my fervent and sincere disagreement.

"No, my son. She is not my soulmate, nor am I hers. I would say she is more kindred to me, like the sister to my soul."

I did not miss the momentary swell of relief that flooded through our bond, or the brief flash of hope in Eric's eyes, at my words. Clearly, the line between love and hate had been much finer than I was initially led to believe.


	4. Why I Lie – Liz Phair

_A/N: So this weekend, I am taking my mom to lunch and then the ballet for her Mother's Day present. Since I will be busy Sunday, I decided to go ahead and post early. Next chapter will still come out on the Sunday, 6/18._

 _Thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

 _Warning: There are non-graphic references to self-harm in this chapter._

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

There were many things I'd never told him, never told anyone. I was a vault locked tight, and long ago I'd thrown away the key. I lugged my secrets around with me like they were security blankets. They were my armor against the world, against forging connections or relationships beyond the superficial.

But he had expected more from me, wanted more from me – and I had always held him at bay.

For the longest time, I'd deluded myself into thinking that the masks we both wore made us equals – because he very clearly had skeletons of his own in the closets. His deceits took the form of open-faced dishonesties while mine were more subtle, lies of omission. But at the end of the day, I had to admit we weren't even close to being equals. Because while he'd lied to protect himself and his son, for self-preservation... _I'd_ done it first and foremost to try to gain the upper hand.

Karma really had bitch-slapped me pretty hard over that one.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Ezra followed me home the night we met. Followed me, not walked me home; the distinction was infinitely important – at least to me. He didn't know that I knew, that I could feel his presence in my mental net. I didn't intend to expose myself as a telepath so I let him have his delusions that he was being discrete. I didn't need to drop my shields and infiltrate his thoughts to know he was just concerned for my safety, and in fairness I'd already rejected his request to _let_ him walk me home. In minutes, we'd gone from potential foe to maybe friend to definite stalker.

Lucky me?

Ezra had cringed when I shrugged off his concerns about my well-being; he practically insisted we visit the ER to let someone take a look at my ankle. I was staunchly against the idea – a record on repeat in my head playing one of many family mottos, 'Hardings don't go to the hospital.' There were many things I wouldn't be able to hide under a paper-thin hospital gown – like the yellowing finger bruises on my arms, or the purpled knuckle marks on my back, or the scabbed razor-thin cuts on my upper thighs. Some secrets were best kept covered and out of sight, even if it meant suffering some discomfort with each step I took for a couple days. Pain was no stranger in my life.

I limped along at a slow click, while Ezra stayed over one hundred feet back and in the shadows. I was pretty sure I hadn't broken my ankle, but it seemed pretty twisted up and sore – like maybe a sprain or something. I groaned internally thinking about how my mother and father would react to my injury when they found out. Mostly because if history informed the future, I knew they wouldn't take it well. I needed to patch myself up; they wouldn't care about what people couldn't see, what others couldn't comment on.

If a tree fell in the forest, and no one was around, did it make a sound? According to my parents, the answer was a firm and unyielding no; out of sight, out of mind – words to live by.

I stopped momentarily at a convenience store to purchase a box of band-aids, some antiseptic, and a cheap ankle brace. I paid with some waistband monies before exiting to slump down onto the curb, dropping the plastic bag beside me. I carefully picked the gravel out of my knees before sloshing alcohol over the shallow lacerations. I resisted the urge to cry out at the searing pain, squinting my eyes tight until it subsided. Discarding the paper bits in my bag, I applied not one, not two, but three band-aids before feeling satisfied that my wounds had been attended to, wouldn't get infected. I put on the ankle brace last, noting it was little more than a tight sock, slipping it under my _actual_ sock to hide it.

Standing up, I shifted my full weight back and forth from foot to foot, glad to see that despite its dime-storey quality the brace actually functioned fairly well. Small mercies. I picked up the bag, shuffling my waistband items inside along with the leftovers from my makeshift first aid kit. It never hurt to have backup band-aids on hand in my household.

I jogged the rest of the way home after that.

I noticed that Ezra kept pace, still about a hundred feet behind, until I bounded up my driveway, at which point he practically disappeared. Next time I saw him I'd have to figure out what that was about, play a little mental espionage to pluck out his secrets. A girl's gotta guard herself against potential danger, right? At least that's what I told myself at the time.

I wanted to know what Ezra's _thing_ was, why he'd approached some random girl in the night, and then followed her home _without_ attacking her – me. I refused to trust his words or actions; those could easily be lies, as my father had shown me time and time again. I wanted to go straight to the heart of him, the source of any darkness – his thoughts. That's where people hid their true selves, that's where monsters got caged. That's where I could learn how to best them, beat them at their own game.

The house wasn't dark, but I still managed to sneak upstairs without detection.

I silently struggled with the doorknob to my room, pulling a bobby-pin from my hair to pop the lock. I gingerly opened and shut the door, re-engaging the button to barricade myself against the world. Then I finally released the breath I'd been holding, allowing myself to relax. I flashed the light quickly on, and then instantly off, as I spied my little sister Ginny tucked into my bed, already fast asleep. My sister only slept in my room when our father hurt her instead of me, and while I didn't know what had happened, I instantly regretted that I hadn't been home to protect her, to bear the brunt of his fickle fury.

Guilt washed over me, and I instinctively pressed my fingers into the wounds on my knees, allowing the tears that pricked in the corners of my eyes to fall without flicking them away. I told myself that I _deserved_ to feel bad, that I _needed_ to punish myself for failing her. My own form of self-flagellation complete, I showered and redressed my reopened cuts. Then I pulled on my softest flannel pajamas before climbing in beside my sister.

I hugged Ginny close and offered my tearful apologies, although I knew she wouldn't hear them, before turning away to drift into a fitful sleep.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo**

* * *

It still amazed me how hot North Texas nights could be, and how little could be done to abate the effects of the pervasive heat. But iced beverage in hand, I couldn't help but think, 'a girl has to try.'

I sat alone at a plastic picnic table, slurping my cherry ice loudly. Even though it did little to cool me down, I continued to suck at the sugary, frozen remnants with my red scoop straw. After devouring the final and unfulfilling gulp, I tossed the empty cup into the trashcan to my left. In my peripheral vision, I spotted Jeremy waving wildly from a ways away, motioning for me to come join him.

He'd been nice enough to pay for my ticket, even though our outing wasn't a date per se. It was more like a group thing – some his friends, some mine. Jeremy did have a crush on me, but he'd yet to try to act on it. I could tell he was working up the courage, which was cute since he was seventeen, almost two years older than me. I was debating whether or not I should make the first move. I liked him too; he was a pretty nice guy. Plus, he was tall, and tall was definitely my type.

I rose from my seat and started to move in Jeremy's direction, halting as I recognized a familiar voice shouting in my direction.

"Sookie! I was able to make it after all!"

Ezra exclaimed as he brushed past hordes of people to reach me, a large smile overtaking his countenance.

I smiled back, simultaneously stifling the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, he'd been able to make it; he was a vampire! I didn't know what all he did in his spare time, but I couldn't see why he wouldn't be able to ride the rollercoasters at Six Flags over Texas with me. He was slave to no master, for all I knew, and I was jealous as hell. He could do whatever he wanted! Who was gonna stop him? Nobody, that's who – or at least that's what I imagined.

I didn't _exactly_ know for sure what Ezra's undead life was like.

It wasn't as if he had actually told me about him being a vampire _directly_ – or out loud. My telepathy had extracted that piece of information over a year ago after Ezra showed up again while I was out for another run at White Rock Lake. While he passionately campaigned for me to pick a less physically exerting hobby, I lowered my mental shields to slip into his mind to learn the truth behind his request. I'd experienced a little more resistance than usual getting in, but sometimes the juice was worth the squeeze.

Like that time.

I chalked it up to a smart defensive strategy instead of an intrusion, especially since his thoughts switched without warning between English and some other language I'd never heard. It wasn't as if id stolen ALL his confidences; I knew there were a lot I'd missed.

Plus, I'd been relieved when I plucked his deepest, darkest secret from his mind; it meant I wasn't the only liar liar pants on fire, that we had something in common. It didn't bother me one bit that he was a vampire; it didn't mean he was a monster. I lived with a _bona-fide_ monster, and honestly, if most vampires were like Ezra, they may as well have been kittens compared to my father.

"Ezra!"

I practically launched myself at him trying to get one of his famously withheld hugs. Even after a year of sporadic mindslipping, I still hadn't confirmed the crux of his whole 'not wanting to smell like me' issue, but I figured it was all the sweat. We usually ran together, once a week, and I was pretty sure I didn't smell like roses afterwards.

This time Ezra didn't sidestep me, and I wrapped my arms around him, stepping back after less than ten seconds to give him a soft smile. He returned the expression, and I couldn't help but wonder what his fangs looked like. Not that I'd ever ask to see them. I may have discovered his secret, but I wasn't keen to call him out on him – lest he try to uncover mine. Shivering at the thought, I unconsciously tugged my long sleeves down, even though they hadn't been pushed up, earning a quizzical look from Ezra.

Remembering Jeremy had been trying to get my attention too and not wanting to answer Ezra's unspoken question, I spun around to see my would-be suitor's face was crestfallen. I couldn't resist dropping my shields; I had to know what he was thinking.

He thought Ezra was... my _boyfriend_?!

Gross!

Not gross because he was a vampire, but because it wasn't like that between us. Ezra was like my brother! I really didn't want Jeremy to think they were in some kind of weird competition for my affections. So I grabbed Ezra by the hand, led him across the open area, and introduced the two of them.

Things went downhill pretty quickly after that.

Jeremy enclosed his hand around my upper arm, and wrenched me away from Ezra to express his displeasure at my friend's presence. My anger rose to epic levels; I suffered my father's physical aggressions, but it didn't mean I was gonna suffer anyone else's.

I detected a hint of possessiveness in Jeremy's tone I'd never noticed before as he whispered harshly, "Who the hell is this kid, Addy?! He's covered in tattoos, for Christ's sakes! What is he – a gang member?"

 _'No, he's a vampire who right about now is looking like he wants to rip your head off…'_ was what I wanted to say, but what I said instead was, "Stay the hell away from me and mine, Jeremy!" I shoved him hard with a force he didn't expect, " _That_ guy is one of my _best_ friends, and you're just some meathead asshole jock who needs to keep his freaking hands off me!"

The look of shock on his face was priceless. I stomped away from Jeremy and over to Ezra, turning back to make sure – absolutely sure – he wasn't confused about the meaning of my words.

"Just to be perfectly clear, from here on out – you are NOTHING to me. Don't talk to me, don't come near me… hell, don't even _look_ at me!" I pulled some cash outta my fanny pack, and threw it on the ground, "Oh, and I didn't need you to buy my freaking ticket for what wasn't even a flipping date! Asshole."

Ezra was grinning ear to ear at the exchange, and I knew he'd heard every word, including how it had started.

"C'mon, Ezra," I said, taking his hand and leading him away from the doofus whose mouth was still agape, "Let's go ride some rollercoasters. They're terrifying and fun all at the same time; you're gonna love it!"

And he did.

We screamed our lungs out as the car whipped up and down the tracks, swirling around curves at speeds that had my stomach doing flip-flops. It was easily the most fun I'd had in years. Before we left, Ezra insisted on talking to Jeremy, and I decided to run to the bathroom for a bio-break. By the time I finished up, Ezra was done and ready to go. Honestly, I didn't know what he said, and I didn't ask, but whatever it was must've been truly frightening because Jeremy abided by all my previously set rules.

In fact, I never saw hide or hair of him again.

* * *

"Ezra!"

I shouted as I spotted him, concealed from view by the foliage off the paved path.

I'd been forced to hunt him down by his mental signature after I realized he wasn't in our usual meeting spot. I'd had to run almost a mile to find him! Why was he hiding from me when he knew I'd be showing up? We'd confirmed our plans to run the Katy Trail just the night before…

Of course, then blonde, tall, dark… _pale_ as the moonlight also came into view –– and I had some inkling as to why Ezra would be obscuring himself.

 _Vampire_ stuff.

I threw my shields down instantly. I had no intentions of being polite by keeping my nose outta their business. I was running at a clip that would put me next to the unknown vampire in seconds, even if I did manage to slow my speed considerably, and I told myself I was just being cautious. I guess I could've just stayed back, but I wasn't exactly uneager to get close to said-stranger. He was hot, like supermodel on the cover of a magazine hot. I entertained fleeting 15-year old teenage girl, hubba-hubba aoooga fantasies about the blonde Adonis for about twelve seconds before he went and ruined it.

Ruined everything.

 _'Who the fuck does that smelly bloodbag think she is?!'_

Lurch 2.0's thoughts assaulted my mind, and instantly boiled the blood in my veins. Who the hell did I think _I_ was? Who the hell was _he_?!

"Hey!"

I panted out angrily, offended by his nasty thoughts but also trying to catch my breath.

Realizing my folly, that I'd almost exposed my gift, I turned to address Ezra. I refused to lay even one eye on the Andre the Giant wannabe, who apparently had decided I was about as worthwhile as the dirt beneath his shoes. He wasn't worth my time either, or my attentions.

"What are you doing all the way over here?"

" _We_ ," The Herman Munster-like goliath responded in a disdainful tone, smoke practically billowing out of his ears, "were having a private conversation."

What. An. Asshole.

Two could play this game, and I knew from my father that pretty boys hated it when people thought they looked older than they were. So I donned my most frightened expression and meekest tone before whispering not-so-quietly, "Is that your dad?"

 _'See how you like that, jerk'_ – I thought to myself.

He did not; he didn't like it one bit.

"I am _NOT_ his father!" The not-so-Jolly Green Giant barked back through gritted teeth.

I loved it; his anger was cheerios to my milk. I felt satisfied almost instantly, but I still wanted to bait him, really put him through the ringer – I didn't know why; I just did.

"Huf- _fy,_ " I quipped back, punctuating my syllables and craning my neck up so that my eye roll would not go unnoticed by the unwanted Mr. Freakishly Tall. He may have had more than a foot on me, but I didn't care. Then I turned my back on him, rudely shutting him out, like he didn't matter one bit to me; because he _didn't_.

I faced Ezra, whose thoughts flitted unexpectedly through my mind.

 _'How to explain? He is my son, but also my fader and my broder…'_

Brother… I glommed onto the word. That seemed like the most reasonable question to ask. It's not like I was ready to tell Ezra I knew he was a vampire, or that I'd figured out this guy was likely his vampire child.

"So who _is_ this guy then? Is he like your brother?"

"Yes, Sookie," Ezra answered, "This is my _brother_ … Eric."

"Well… y'all don't really look alike. That's why I got confused. I wasn't trying to be rude or anything…" I stepped back and spun on my feel to face Eric once more, throwing my hand out to shake his, "Nice to meet you, Eric. I'm Ezra's friend, Addy."

Eric refused to shake my hand, and he _scowled_ at me! I was so confused – I was being nice! I'd even stopped referring to him as freakishly tall TV/movie characters in my head! I wanted to slap him, and then slap him again, but Ezra guided my hand down. He offered the most bullshit excuse I'd ever heard to explain why someone had behaved so rudely.

"He is not too keen on touch."

"Oh, well I guess that's something you've both got in common then," I groused, remembering the numerous attempted post-run hugs Ezra had sidestepped, "I can _sort_ of see the resemblance now. You know, if I squint real hard, and tilt my head to the side like this…"

I stood on one foot, my view askance and off-kilter. Ezra most certainly did _not_ look like the Scandinavian Frankenstein, but the conversation had turned uncomfortable, and the joker in me was coming out.

"Different fathers," Big-headed Bigfoot stated, without providing any context to encircle his few words, confuddling me to no end.

I stumbled as I shot up from my dramatic display, my mouth hanging open – catching flies, as my mother would have said.

"Huh?"

I said, ungracefully as I snapped out of my wild gesturing moment. The word just sorta slipped out, much to my chagrin. He'd caught me off guard, and I hadn't meant to respond.

"You said we do not look alike. We have different fathers – that is why, _Sookie_."

It really was a shame that someone so handsome could be such a jerk. He was so pleased with himself; I didn't have to lower my telepathic shields to see it. I was _livid_ that he had called me 'Sookie' despite my request he call me 'Addy.' It was a jerk move at best, and I returned the offense in kind.

"Well _Andrew_ …"

I renamed King Kong man, the skyscraper-reaching asshole, and I could see it irritated him. I loved watching him stew in his anger, something about it felt right to me. It could easily become my new favorite pastime if I got forced to suffer his indignities on a weekly basis.

 _'Disrespectful human, I rule Louisiana's Area Five…'_

He thought as his face transformed from a blank slate to a fresh scowl.

I didn't know _or care_ what it meant. But it answered an unspoken question, and also relieved my worries that Dallas-destroying Godzilla guy was here to stay. He may have been claiming to be Ezra's brother, but he was an out-of-towner through and through. He lived in Louisiana, and apparently, he had some fancy schmancy kind of job there, which meant he was _definitely_ _going_ _back_. Small mercies.

Despite his previous efforts to hold back his amusements, Ezra let out a full body chuckle as I said my not-so-friendly goodbyes. I wanted to hang out with Ezra, but Already-Been-Stretched Armstrong was grating on my last nerve.

"…it's been _real_ , not real _pleasant_ , but real just the same. Sorry to bother your _private_ conversation. I'll see _you_ around, Ezra, preferably once your brother goes _out of town_ again."

I sprinted away in the direction of my house instead of waiting for my insults to land. I didn't wait to see Blondie Mc-Tallerson's reaction; I knew I'd gone off on a high note with my victory in hand.

As I bounded up my driveway, I couldn't help but think if I never saw that jerk again, it'd be too soon.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"So, whatcha gonna do for spring break next week, Addy? Are your parents gonna let you go somewhere cool now that you're a senior? Mine said they'd let me tag along with you, if you went somewhere. They're still _soooo_ worried all I'm gonna be doing otherwise is sitting at home alone..."

Katie said in between bites, chomping down on her lunch while obviating my view of her chewed up food with the back of her hand.

I held up a finger to indicate I needed a minute to finish off the last of my leftover meatloaf sandwich. I bobbed my head along as I gnashed through the remaining bits, swallowing dramatically and with much fanfare. Mouth agape, I stuck out my tongue for good measure, to prove there wasn't anything left, not one precious morsel. Katie laughed at my silliness; I was the cut-up, the clown. Jokes were a great way to deflect when confronted with uncomfortable conversations – like this one.

In truth, I wasn't even allowed to _talk_ to Katie anymore, let alone bring her on a trip, as much as I may have wanted to. Her weight gain over the past couple of years had signaled my father's sudden disapproval. He seemed to think that people with a little pudge carried some airborne illness, and that if I stayed in close enough proximity, I'd be afflicted by it too. In his mind, being fat was worse than being ugly. Then truly _no one_ would want me, and I'd be some kind of spinster he'd have to support for the rest of my life.

Of course, I hadn't _actually_ dropped Katie as a friend, because I wasn't a heartless monster. But I couldn't risk my father finding that out, getting angry with me. Katie was making it tougher and tougher to keep our friendship under wraps, inviting me to things left and right. I had to keep making excuses why I couldn't go, and I could tell it upset her a little more each time, but I really didn't want to hurt her feelings by telling her the truth.

More secrets – I was swimming in them.

"Ummm… I dunno. My mom's making me go see my cousin in New Orleans; she said it's a family only kind of thing. Sorry, Katydid…"

It wasn't _all_ untrue; I _was_ going to New Orleans. But the cousin part was utter bullshit. I didn't have any relatives in Louisiana – but at least it _sounded_ plausible.

"Oh…" she said sadly, "But you'll still get to have at least a _little_ fun while you're out there, right?"

"Eh, let's say my chances are about 50-50. Hell, with odds like that maybe I should hit up a casino while I'm there."

I was seventeen; nobody was ever going to let me into a casino.

Katie laughed for longer than I would've expected considering my joke wasn't _that_ funny. So I took a flourishing bow after standing up to discard my trash and head off to class. I slipped my backpack's straps over my shoulders and gave a hearty and emphatic wave goodbye, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief as soon as my back was turned.

She believed my lies, and our friendship was only slightly worse for the wear. But more importantly, my secrets were safe.

Crisis. Averted.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo**

* * *

I peered down at my city map, wondering how I had gotten turned around, so ass-backwards while sightseeing in New Orleans that I couldn't make heads or tails of my location. I was directionally-challenged; if I hadn't been certain of it before, today had proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Despite the setting sun, the street lights had yet to flicker on, which meant I couldn't read a damn thing on the laminated drawing before me. I wished there was a big "You are here" sticker to tell me where I was in relation to my hotel. But of course, my wish fell on deaf ears.

"Excuse me?"

I asked a couple passing by me carrying cloth bags, not noticing that they were bundled much more tightly than the weather would necessitate.

"Could you help me? I'm lost. I'm trying to get back to the French Quarter…"

"You're not too far away," The young blonde woman responded, interrupting me.

She looked maybe nineteen, only a couple of years older than me. Her face was fairly gaunt, and her eyes were sunken in. She trembled lightly as she threw her arm around my shoulder, leading me away from the main street as the guy trailed too closely for comfort behind me.

"C'mon, you can get back that way pretty quickly if you take this shortcut."

It all happened so quickly.

I dropped my shields, unnerved by her strange actions and wanting to determine her motivations, but it was too late. In seconds, her arm disappeared, and the guy shoved me hard, slamming my front into a brick wall. His elbow dug into my back, and he shoved my legs apart with his.

"Search her," He ordered the woman, before leaning in, his mouth inches from my ear, "Be a good girl now. Stay fucking quiet and you won't get hurt."

To punctuate his threat, he snaked his other hand around my neck. The woman patted me down like she was a security guard at the airport, touching me in places I'd rather not be touched – _especially_ by a stranger. I strangled the cry that threatened to erupt from my throat; I wanted to be 'a good girl.' His thoughts were a drugged-up hazy jumble, but they were clear about one thing, he really didn't want to hurt me – all he wanted was my money.

"She's got some kind of pouch under her clothes; turn her around."

The woman said, earning a sharp glare from the guy. Apparently he fancied himself the alpha of the two, and he took his displeasure at her directive out on me. He released my throat and forcefully wrenched me around, pinning my shoulders against the wall with hands, caging me in. I considered kicking him in the nuts and running, but the knife I now saw in the woman's hand gave me pause.

In less than seconds, she tore her hands under my shirt and ripped my fanny pack from my waist. The bands burned at my skin as the clasp tore, and I yelped out in pain. He jumped back, startled, but she lunged forward, plunging the knife into my abdomen. Her eyes widened and her expression turned to shock.

 _'Oh shit!'_ She thought, _'Fuck, we're gonna get in so much fucking trouble. Shit!'_

I cried out from the pain, and she drew the blade back, to strike again. It slipped into me like I was warm butter, and her thoughts turned murderous on a pin.

 _'Goddammit I can't believe I did that! I'm gonna hafta fucking kill her!'_

"HADLEY!"

The guy screamed.

He grabbed Hadley's wrist, forcing her to drop the knife, and pulled her away from me. He bounded down the alley, with her in tow. She tried to match his strides as he dragged her along, but stumbled every so often. I watched them until they disappeared out of sight.

Blood seeped from my wounds, and I couldn't tell how badly I was hurt. Shock was settling in. I carefully and slowly removed my jacket, inching it down one arm and then the other. I was going to need something to press against my wounds until I could tend to them.

I hobbled further down the back alley, hoping beyond hope that they hadn't lied about it being a shortcut, that I _was_ actually headed in the direction of my hotel. I clutched my jacket to my stomach to stanch the bleeding, thinking if I could just get a hold of a sewing needle, I could stitch myself up. Then it'd be like it never happened; I was sure of it. But that was nothing more than a silly pipe dream, and I'd yet to realize it because in truth I was becoming wildly delirious.

 _'Oh hell,_ ' rang through my head as I stumbled upon Ezra's vampire child called brother, talking to someone I couldn't see. He didn't look a day older than the last time I'd seen him over two years ago, but of course neither did Ezra – why did he think I wouldn't notice that?

I took a hesitant step forwards and discovered the second conversationalist was a greasy black-haired man who was also as pale as a ghost – oh great, _two_ vampires.

And here I was walking towards them, like a stuck pig on a platter – or a lamb being carried off to the slaughter. I turned with as much grace as I could muster – which was none – trying to stagger away in the direction I'd come from as if I'd never seen the towering behemoth of a bully. But he'd seen me – or at least smelled my blood.

 _'She is bleeding.'_

His stray thought hit me like a freight train, and I realized that my stab wounds, and subsequent blood loss, were causing my shields to fail. Double _great_.

 _'She smells divine.'_

The unknown vampire's unspoken utterance slithered like snakes through my mind, and I visibly shuddered in response. His mind's voice sounded ravenous, like he wanted to devour me whole, tear me to bits with his teeth. Maybe all vampires weren't like Ezra, weren't gentle and kind.

I redoubled my efforts to get away from the pair, surprised when Ezra's son appeared in front of me. The other vampire's mental signature was gone, and I couldn't help but feel relieved, even if I didn't understand _how_ Mr. Hot-stuff Area-ruling Vampire had gotten him to leave.

 _'Apparently my snarkiness survived the attack,'_ I thought to myself.

What was his _actual_ name again? Oh yeah… Eric.

Eric's blue eyes bore into mine as I stopped short in front of him, remembering from the first time we met that he didn't want to be touched by me. I understood it a little better now because I didn't want to be touched by him either.

"I'm okay," I gritted out with more effort than was belied by my tone or tempo, "I _definitely_ don't need _your_ help..."

I could feel the cool, wet blood seeping through my jacket. I tried to act like nothing out of the ordinary was happening as a small red spot began to bloom underneath my arm. Eric narrowed his eyes, none too pleased with me it seemed.

"You are not well, _Sookie_ ; you have been injured."

"I'll be fine, _Drew_."

I grumbled, slumping against the wall as black spots started to overtake my vision.

"You lie."

He shot back, raising an eyebrow and curling his top lip up, as if trying to tamp down a smile.

"All the time," I laughed, "But I've heard it doesn't count if it's for a good cause…"

I joked lightly as pain radiated through my form.

I pressed my arms against my wounds harder, not sure anymore if the pressure was actually slowing the flow, or if it was increasing it. I yelped as I sank towards the ground, my legs giving way beneath me as numbness cascaded through me. My butt didn't hit the concrete though, not that I had expected to feel the sting. Mostly all I could feel was cold.

Instead, I found myself cradled in my immortal enemy's lap and arms, peering into ocean blue orbs. I nuzzled my head into his chest. It wasn't for comfort; I just couldn't waste the energy reserves it took to hold it up any longer.

"You know you might be more trouble than you are worth."

He whispered into my hair.

He may have been kidding. I couldn't tell; I didn't care. My hearing was muffled and clouded, like my ears had been stuffed with cotton.

"Tell me about it."

I slurred back, drooling a little on his cornflower blue shirt.

It's the little things that get noticed at the end.

My mouth was no longer functioning at full capacity, and my eyes fluttered shut. It was like my body was powering down, and I felt sleep tugging at my mind. I remained still as he slowly peeled my arms off of my blood-soaked jacket, lifting it away from my deep lacerations. I could've sworn I heard his breath hitch in his throat, but that was crazy – I knew from my time with Ezra that vampires didn't breathe. Eric rubbed at the gouges a little, but there was no pain, only pressure. I didn't know what he was doing, but it made me feel a little bit better, like I wasn't dying so fast anymore.

Was that a bad sign? My guess was a resounding and unequivocal 'yes.'

"Addy… we are going to stand up now. I will try not to jostle you."

I was hallucinating; I was sure of it. He'd never deign to call me by my preferred name.

I grunted in response.

"I must take you to a hospital, before this damage becomes permanent. We have tarried here too long."

That I heard clear as a bell.

I couldn't go to the hospital. I'd have to explain – the scars, the bruises, _everything_. If I managed to live, my father would kill me once he got back from his work trip – or more likely, he'd kill us all. I wasn't going to risk my sister's life so I could have a few more measly days. Adrenaline flooded my body, and I struggled against Eric's hold, trying to get away – but to no avail. My voice returned twice as strong, and I screeched out my fears, but not their source.

"NO! _Anything_ but that, Eric! Please, oh please DON'T take me to the hospital!"

A deluge of tears streamed down my face, and I chanted 'please, please don't' over and over until my voice became raspy and weak; it didn't take long. The adrenaline subsided quickly and agony grasped me in its clutches once again. Eric brushed his hand against my cheek, wiping away my slowing tears, and I noticed his skin felt warm against mine. The end was definitely close.

"Shhhh…" He whispered again, "You must calm yourself, Addy. Shhhh… I…"

 _'…do not want you die, min lilla faerie...'_

He thought, as he finished aloud, "…can help, if you will let me…"

I ignored the strange pet name, letting out a heavy sigh of relief, my eyes still closed. We weren't in motion, so I imagined my impassioned speech had spurred him into inaction. But he also seemed to be proposing something else in lieu of a hospital visit, and I wasn't exactly ready to call it quits on life yet – someday maybe, but not _today_.

His face nuzzled my neck, and I felt his lips press against my skin.

"Bite me..."

I tried to whisper it into his chest, but it came out more like 'psst psst,' so quiet I figured he hadn't actually heard me. My body twitched as I gasped for breath, trying to say it once again, but this time no sounds came out. I could've sworn I heard a soft click close to my ears, but it was always possible I'd just imagined it.

I couldn't say what happened after that because darkness overtook me.


	5. The Reason – Hoobastank

_A/N: Okay so honestly, I'm getting into a Eeyore state of mind. My fandom is dying, and it's hard to keep good spirits. I know I'm supposed to wait until 6/18 to post but truthfully that's my ex-husband's bday, and I want to help ignite this fandom back to life._

 _Thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

I had unknowingly and unwittingly made many mistakes with my new child, even before she became one of my blood. I had failed to protect her, to shield her from dangers I had no idea she faced; I had let her suffer in silence. She had always seemed so happy, so vivacious that I had ignored the warning signs, her odd mannerisms, her strange disquietudes... I now understood her carefree and light-hearted nature was actually a stoic-like affectation she donned to hide her pain.

She had pulled the veritable wool over my eyes, as she would have said – and to some degree, I had allowed it.

Because I had not looked beyond the surface, I had made critical choices based on what turned out to be very limited information. Those choices had led to monumental mistakes, and those mistakes had cost her _everything_. _I_ had cost her everything. Whether or not she ever deigned to pardon me my trespasses was not the heaviest weight resting on my mind. Because even if I managed by some twist of fate to earn her mercies, _I_ was not sure I would ever find it within me to forgive _myself_.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

After the sun set, I sped through Dallas to pick up Sookie a block from her house for our weekly run. I was prepared to run alongside her in silence, but as she slipped in my vehicle's bucket seat, she let me know she would rather walk. That was fine by me; I loved the chance to engage her in conversation, a pastime often impeded by running. Sookie peered wistfully out the window as I whipped in and out of traffic to reach our destination. After parking, we jogged lightly towards the Village Running Trail, hooking onto the path almost immediately. As we fell into a comfortable stride, Sookie shared some news with me that I found rather startling.

It seemed that despite my two thousand years, I still could fall prey to surprise.

"You are taking a trip to New Orleans… by _yourself_?"

Despite my efforts, I could not mask the incredulity I felt at Sookie's assertion that she had been gifted a trip to New Orleans as part of a celebratory ritual denoting her completion of high school. I could not understand it; she had not yet graduated.

"It's a _trial run_ ," She finger-quoted, "before I go to Europe this summer!"

"Europe?"

"Oh yes! Geez, I got so excited talking about New Orleans I almost forgot! Ezra, my parents are going to let me backpack across Europe – by myself! Can you believe it?!"

No, I very much could not believe it.

I had been led to believe that humans of this day and age were inclined to coddle their young, and to stifle their progression from adolescence into adulthood. Letting Sookie roam around alone, halfway across the world no less, flew in the face of that assumption. Although she was unawares, I knew Sookie's human caretakers were not her blood family, but surely they still cared for her welfare.

They had seemed like nice people.

While I had not _officially_ met them, or been properly introduced, I had trailed both her mother and father to a high-end Dallas restaurant in Victory Park soon after meeting Sookie. In all honestly, I was snooping; I wanted to see if one or both of them was also Fae. But they were not fairies, not even partially. They were just a couple of run-of-the-mill humans raising an extraordinary fairy hybrid, who more than likely _was_ being hidden away in the Human Realm.

I wished I knew why.

"Ezra?"

Sookie called out, stopping to peer back at me with a look of concern; I had fallen behind.

I had been nervous when she said she would be only hours away in New Orleans – less if I flew, but it carried great risk – the thought of her on the other side of an ocean _terrified_ me. The New World, the United States in particular, had a significantly smaller vampire population compared to the Old World. Sookie had rarely run into vampires in Texas because there were not many to bump into, but overseas my kind would be practically _everywhere_. And many of them would be old like me, more predisposed to correctly identify Sookie's scent as Fae, if they caught a whiff. Luckily her sweet smell only became noticeable when she bled or sweated, but since back-packing sounded fairly strenuous, I worried she would most likely smell like a sugary vampire treat _all_ the time.

Vampires did not dream, but I knew inherently that these fears were the things nightmares were made from.

I closed the space between us, but we did not resume our walk; my head was swimming with anxieties.

"I would like to go to Europe with you, when you go."

The words passed my lips before I could chew on them. I regretted speaking so foolishly, but I refused to retract them. Of course, I would have to devise some sort of excuse to explain my inability to walk in the sun, but perhaps I could claim I had some sort of allergy or intolerance. I made a mental note to ask Sabine to research if such a malady existed. It would be useful to know such a thing.

"Ummm… I'm not exactly sure _how_ that would work out …"

She responded hesitantly, shuffling her foot on the concrete. I jumped in to offer reasons why my presence could be beneficial, instead of disruptive.

"I _am_ from Europe," It was true, albeit from a country that no longer existed in its original form, "I can help you to blend in, that way you will not be treated badly like so many other American tourists," Also true, "and there is strength in numbers. We could keep each other safe," which was my impetus for wanting to go at all, "But I would not crowd you, I promise. I will even find my own lodgings, and simply ask to occupy your nights, if that would be preferable to you."

I swore I saw Sookie roll her eyes slightly before she smiled broadly, excitement overtaking her expression. She clapped her hands together, and responded with an undeniable mirth in her tone.

"Sure, Ezra! That'd be great! OMG, we're gonna have so much fun!"

I nodded my head in agreement, grinning from ear to ear… until I remembered that I had forgotten about New Orleans. My smile faltered a bit as I steered our conversation back to the excursion she would head out for the very next week.

"So you will be in New Orleans for this break your school gives for spring?"

She most definitely had rolled her eyes at me that time.

" _Spring break_ , Ezra. Yep, I'll fly out Sunday night, and back that Friday morning. I'll be there almost the whole week."

"If you would like, I can…"

I stopped myself before offering to tag along, realizing that while I could easily explain a trip overseas to visit my homeland, the King would not be as accepting of an impromptu outing to New Orleans. The Queen of Louisiana lived in New Orleans, and my last minute request to go there would likely be interpreted as a defection. My King was shrewd in his dealings, but also a little paranoid.

'No, I will send Eric to watch over her,' I decided before finishing the sentence I had started.

Eric owed fealty to the Louisiana Queen; surely he could come up with some sort of excuse to find himself in her court for what would amount to a paltry number of nights compared to eternity. If he did not agree to protect his future sister forthright, I had designs to force him to.

"… go with you to purchase a map. I am sure we can find a bookstore still open at this hour."

She beamed at me, "Definitely!"

Minutes later, we were back in my car; on our way to grab her a map.

* * *

After dropping Sookie off near her home, map in hand, I reignited my car's engine and tore back into the night. I had many things left to do before the sun took me into my day death.

I had cleared a permanent spot in my schedule to run with my future child, but it merely shuffled the Area Business around. My second, Isabel, shouldered what workload she could, but some Area conflicts simply required the attentions of the Sheriff. I could not wait for the day I could step down, concentrate on being the maker of a fledgling vampire once again.

Sookie.

I had not made another child since Eric, for well over a thousand years, and I wondered if Sookie's first years as vampire would resemble his. Would the teaching methods I had used to curtail Eric's wild behaviors serve to be just as effective with Sookie? Both were willful, but not quite the same… I shrugged off the concern; worrying about the far future served no purpose. My energies were best spent focused on the here and now, the problems I was currently faced with – like how to keep Sookie safe while she was hundreds of miles away in New Orleans.

I powered down my vehicle, and headed into the house, not pausing until I reached my office. Sweeping into my chair, I tapped at the small tie within my mind, wishing to some degree it was stronger. But it was not, and in its current form it only told me one thing – that Sookie was alive and likely well. I smiled to myself. That humming flicker of warmth in the back of my mind was enough to assuage my many anxieties. Although I had not reveled in stealing a modicum of Sookie's privacy without her consent, I told myself a couple of drops of my blood would _only_ give me access to her location and her _most_ extreme emotions.

Anything below that register simply would not, for lack of a better word, register within me.

I steepled my hands, elbows set on my mahogany desk, as I remembered how our small tie had come into existence. It was not a feeling of power that swelled within me as I replayed the memory in my mind, but one of contentment and relief.

I had been grateful when Sookie ordered a coffee drink from the small café at the bookstore in Lincoln Center. It gave me an easy vehicle in which I could provide my future child with less than a thimble-full of my liquid life-force. She slurped down her machi-something with gusto, not noticing the addition, and I had even attempted to gulp down a foamy drink of my own, much to my own chagrin. The taste was vile, embittered by espresso and tempered by human sugar. My subsequent coughing and upturned scowl had caused Sookie to erupt into a sea of unstifled giggles. I did not understand the joke, but she assured me she would explain it at a later date…

"Ahem…"

My assistant Sabine cleared her throat, not because she needed to, but to attract my attentions. She stood in the doorjamb to my office, seeking my approval to enter. In her hands, she carried a thin stack of paperwork and folders, no doubt associated with tonight's calendar, with the cases I was scheduled to preside over.

"Report out," I said, shaking off my thoughts of Sookie and donning the affectation of a strong, emotionless vampire Sheriff – an act I had played at for far too long.

"Master Godric, Isabel has covered everything within her purview," She walked over to my desk and set down the night's itinerary, as she always did, "but these she could not take."

I pulled the papers before me closer, flipping through them at vampire speed to skim over their contents. Expectedly, most of them involved property disputes and nest quarrels. But I stilled as one folder in particular captured my attention, and I held it up in my hand.

"Isabel?"

I asked, and Sabine responded wordlessly with a small nod and a large smile.

It seemed my second had located the rogue vampire who had eluded her pursuant efforts for days. The vampire in question had maimed several humans, threatening to expose our existence. We could not afford for our hunts to attract the attentions of the human authorities. I had charged Isabel with finding the perpetrator among us, knowing her success in locating the assailant would reach the King's ears. Isabel's career trajectory would be secured once she claimed her victory – and she had. The miscreant had been apprehended. She was silvered in my nest's underground dungeon, awaiting her pre-trial judgment.

I made a mental note to congratulate Isabel on her conquest, but before I sought her out, I needed to make a call.

"Has the Vampire Sheriff of Louisiana's Area Five been in contact yet this evening?"

"Yes, he has requested his call be returned at _Isabel's_ earliest convenience."

My child had been subversively expressing his displeasure at being regulated into Isabel's schedule for years, since Sookie had come into my undead life. While I considered his behavior subtly petulant, I appreciated the emotions behind his unspoken tantrums. Although he could perhaps not admit it out loud, he would much rather be afforded the opportunity to speak more regularly with _me_ than anyone else, and I liked it. It seemed, much like my son, I was not without my vanities. Tonight I would break with routine and call my son, to discuss his Area's business, but, among other things, to also discuss Sookie's upcoming trip to New Orleans – and the role I expected him to take when it came to her safety.

I imagined he would balk at her name, as he had many times before.

"Let Isabel know I will call the Sheriff of Area Five myself. She can use that free time in her schedule to _play_ with the prisoner if she would like."

My meaning was not lost on Sabine, who donned a look of sheer envy before her placid countenance returned. She nodded, and then spun on her heel to exit, turning as I called out after her.

"Oh, and Sabine?"

She quirked an eyebrow, begging my question.

"Research human maladies related to sun exposure and report back. I will be traveling across Europe for the summer, and I would like to craft a plausible excuse for why I am only able to be out at night."

"Yes, Master Godric."

She agreed, speculation rife in her tone, and then with a _whoosh_ she was gone.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"Godric?"

King Jameson asked me, from his position behind my desk.

I stood behind the Queen Anne chair across from him, appearing deferential and awed – an act I suffered with purpose. It would be unwise to give my King any cause to doubt my loyalties.

"Yes, Aaron?"

"There's a task I need you to handle in Louisiana. Your second's prisoner? The Queen there's very interested in her, and wants us to hand her over right away then. She's been all high and mighty, refusing to join me in contracted bliss. But I don't need to tell you this gives us a bargaining chip, and you and me, we're going to use it."

It was a surprising and lucky twist of fate. Sookie had been in New Orleans for almost two days by herself, and despite our small blood tie alerting me to her wellbeing, I had still been climbing the walls with worry. Eric was in place, guarding her from potential vampire attacks, and reporting back to me, but I could not cast-off my unease.

I had an unshakeable, sinking pit in my stomach, as Sookie would have said.

"If that is what you want, I will go."

Of course, I would travel to New Orleans on my King's behalf, in spite of the fact he had engaged me to be little more than a glorified errand boy. It served my own purposes as much as my King's. The trip would afford me the opportunity to allay my fears, see for myself that Sookie was as safe and protected as Eric purported her to be.

But when I next laid eyes on her, it turned out she was neither of those two things.

* * *

At night's break, I took to the skies, flying towards Louisiana at a blurring speed indiscernible to the human eye. While the flight normally took an hour or more, I made it in under twenty minutes, motivated to complete my King's task and locate Sookie post-haste. Never had I been so glad to be trivialized, to be a messenger.

But my task had taken too long, in the scheme of things.

My blood in Sookie had started screaming her fear minutes after I walked into the Louisiana court. Once dismissed, I practically flew out the door, slowing to a human speed as I realized my folly. I honed in on our tie, following it through the city streets. I knew I was almost upon her when the blood went silent, her extreme emotions stilled – scaring the ever-undead moonlights out of me.

My worst fears were confirmed as I launched myself down the nearest alley.

Sookie was in Eric's arms, her head resting against his chest and his wrist at her mouth, blood dribbling down her chin. The sweet perfume of her own blood assaulted my nostrils, and I felt sick, consumed by concern and anger. What the fuck had happened and what the fuck did my son think he was doing? Vampire blood was not a cure-all; it would not heal the gravest of wounds, which meant he was attempting to _turn her_ …

I was in front of him in seconds with my fangs down and my fury uncaged, my beast rejoicing at its freedom.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?"

I roared, caring not whether or not there were humans within an audible distance that could hear me. I very much wished Sookie would wake, startled by all the noise, to admonish me for being loud and discourteous. But instead, she continued to sleep; her breath hitched and uneven.

Eric's gaze snapped to mine as he carefully wiped away the remnants of his blood from Sookie's lips and face with the hem of his shirt. The look behind his eyes was unreadable, distant.

"She _begged_ , pleaded with me not to take her to the hospital," he snarled, "She beseeched me…"

I could not help but remember how Sookie had acted the first night we met, refusing my entreaties that she visit a doctor to attend to the injury to her ankle…

"Even _IF_ that is true," I interrupted him, growling through gritted teeth, "She is _seventeen_. Still a child! Much too young to become one of us! She deserves more time – to live, to breathe, to walk in the sun!"

I ignored my own hypocrisy. By the time I was Sookie's age I had already been turned. I had never regretted my new state of being. I had relished joining my fellow night stalkers, shuffling off my mortal coil. I had taken to vampirism like a fish takes to water, Sookie would have said.

He opened his mouth in protest, but I cut him off sharply.

"There is _NOTHING_ to discuss!" I growled, undeniable fire burning behind my eyes, "As your maker, I command you to be silent on this matter! We are taking her to a doctor– NOW!"

I punctuated my words by dropping my saliva-covered fangs and snarling at my child in a feral display of fury, and power. I was angry that he had waited as long as he had; I refused to tarry a moment more.

After offering a small nod, Eric zipped away, with Sookie cradled in his arms and me hot on his heels. More familiar with the terrain than myself, I allowed him to take the lead. We stole through the underground paths frequented often by vampires, and sometimes by the humans without homes. As we neared the closest hospital, our blurring speeds slowed to almost a human-like clip.

 _Almost_ …

I was quite frantic, and out of sorts, visibly shaken.

Eric and I ran side by side through the automatic sliding glass doors, screaming for a doctor. It felt appropriate given Sookie's current state – still unconscious and lightly bleeding in Eric's arms.

A red-headed and busty nurse rushed to Eric's side, her gaze lingering on his chiseled form longer than it did on Sookie's wounds. I tamped down my surprise that she was interested in him at all – his clothes were stained with blood – _Sookie's_ blood. While I usually found it entertaining when a human female practically threw herself at my son, tonight's display was unpalatable to me – disgusting. A young woman was dying, for the gods' sakes!

I hated her instantly.

The nurse – _Kim_ , her nametag stated in a boring and mundane script – called out for an orderly's help, and a short thin, scruffy man rushed through swinging doors. He wheeled out a stretcher to whisk Sookie away, but, to my chagrin, was met with much resistance. The orderly practically had to tear Sookie out of Eric's arms, and I suspected my child's motivation for feeding his blood to his future sister was borne from something greater than her supposedly impassioned plea that he not bring her here.

Presently, I could not say how that made me feel.

I followed closely behind the hospital personnel pushing Sookie towards the back, matching them stride for stride. But, I was hindered from passing through the swinging door that led to the hospital's seemingly impenetrable bowels – a forearm placed against my chest – and my vision clouded red. I wanted to go with Sookie; I _needed_ to go with Sookie. As I raised my gaze, I discerned that my blocker was none other than a previously unobserved security guard who had, much to his own misfortune, stepped into my path.

"Family only," He explained gruffly, tapping his other hand's bulbous fingers against a sign that relayed the same.

My beast roared inside me, demanding the pathetic human pay for his infractions against me and mine with his life. I had every intent to tear both arms from his body before I ripped the flesh from his neck with my teeth, and drank deeply from his vein. I was seconds away from launching myself at him, threatening the exposure of my entire race.

Sound judgment be damned.

Eric appeared at my side before my murderous thoughts could overwhelm my sensibilities, placing a hand comfortingly on my shoulder. It was an unexpected, and well-timed gesture on my son's part. I had practically forgotten he was there with me. Calm cascaded through our bond, and I could tell he had sent it to me with great effort – because calm was the polar opposite of the prickly emotions coursing throughout him. I submitted to the drug-like emotion that flooded our maker-child bond, the serenity. I closed my mouth and retracted my fangs, which had sprung out in anger at the guard's terse statement.

Perhaps I had _already_ betrayed our true nature.

Immediately, Eric captured the large, overly-muscled man's eyes, glamouring him to believe a lie that was only half-untrue, "We _are_ family; she is our… sister. You are incredibly sorry you sought to deny us access to her. You will not remember trying to stop us."

" _Incredibly sorry_ …" He parroted back.

I smiled broadly as the brutish man stepped aside, granting us entry.

As I closed the small space between myself and her gurney, I spied her stilled form, relieved to once again have eyes on my friend. I knew inherently it was silly, thinking that as long as I could see her she would be okay, but it was how I felt nonetheless. My hand flew to my face as I realized bloody tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall. I pressed my sleeves against them, willing and wiping my emotions away.

She needed my strength, and I needed to not fall apart – for her.

They wheeled her through another set of doors into a room indicated by a sign to be for surgery, and I understood I could not follow her inside – I did not try.

Catching me by surprise, a large hand landed on my shoulder, and I whipped around at an inhuman speed to find Eric standing behind me. His expression begged a question, but I shook my head lightly – words escaped me at the moment.

I was so consumed by anxiety, I had not even felt my own child come up behind me. But evidently I was not the only one out of sorts. I gaped for a minute in disbelief as Eric sighed unnecessarily. The vampire standing beside me seemed so unlike my warrior son – almost human, but not quite. There was a faraway look in his eyes; his normally placid countenance painted with an uneasy scowl. Of course – _the blood_. He could feel her; he understood the extent of her turmoil. I hated he had a closeness to Sookie that I did not have, even though it was clearly affecting him. I was being irrational, and unreasonable – bordering on petty.

I just _desperately_ needed for her to be okay.

"Family can watch from over there..."

I heard from behind me, spotting the familiar red-headed nurse gesturing to indicate a side room we could occupy.

 _Kim_ shepherded us in the direction of a surgical viewing room with one hand while the other was placed unceremoniously on my son's bicep. She squeezed it lightly, and her actions did not escape my notice – or his. She pushed her breasts out, brushing them up against him, and Eric grinned before winking at her. _Kim_ shuddered in response, her eyelashes fluttering with anticipation, and Eric's hunger trembled across our maker-child bond. I held back my amazement as I realized that he had held it at bay until now. Most vampires would have succumbed to a bloodlust-like frenzy at the mere scent of Sookie's blood – and he was _covered_ in it – but not Eric.

No, my son had been much more controlled, deliberate. _He_ had tried to turn her, only stopping because I had interfered…

I had never been so proud, or disappointed, in him.

I battled the similar feelings as I watched him paw playfully at _Kim_ , who I hated more by the second. He was toying with her, using her own feelings of lust against her to gain what he wanted – her blood and her body. He was succumbing to his nature, seeking to satiate his primal urges to feed and fuck. He had been denying himself, caging his beast like a vampire twice his age – like me – and I could not fault him for being unable to hold out any longer. But I guess I had expected him to try – knowing inherently I was being the epitome of unfair – because it was not just any old human nobody fighting for her life in a room not twelve feet from us…

…it was _Sookie_.

But I held my tongue as I swept past them, leaving them both where they stood, giving Eric my tacit approval to do whatever he wanted with the pathetic human. Our relationship had long moved past the time when I dictated his every action to help him learn self-preservation. I headed into the room _Kim_ had indicated would allow me to view Sookie's surgery. Standing behind a glass wall, I watched as a flock of humans dressed in navy scrubs stripped Sookie's blood-soaked clothes from her body, cutting them off of her piece by piece. I could not see her, just their ministrations, but my eyes did not blink or flit away from the scene before me. Shortly after, the scruffy orderly entered the room to inform me that Sookie was bleeding internally, that the knife had nicked her intestines. He adamantly asserted that the doctors believed it was a repairable injury – she would recover. While I wanted to find comfort in his words, I could not.

I knew I would not find relief until I was _sure_ she was okay.

At some point, Eric rejoined me, redressed somehow in blood-free garb, to stand vigil at my side. I could not say when he returned to me; I had lost all sense of time. I stared intently – my gaze never wavering – and watched as they stitched up my friend, mended her internal traumas. It could have easily been several hours later when they turned around to give me the thumbs up sign – a gesture Sookie had previously informed me was a positive thing. Finally, the weight over my undead heart lifted.

No, my future child would not die today – someday, but not today.

* * *

I did not leave Sookie's side willingly. The burgeoning sun, and my rational child, had demanded I seek shelter for my day death. I was powerless to deny them.

"We must go."

Eric beseeched me, placing his hand on my shoulder to rouse me from my downtime, a sort of trance-like state I had donned. I lightly squeezed Sookie's hand in mine, which registered no response, but it was okay – the steady beep-beep of her heart monitor told me she was alright. Despite the boost Eric's blood would have given the reparative cells of her body and the doctors' ministrations, she had been gravely injured and her body had been through hell. She would need sleep now more than ever.

I laid Sookie's hand down by her side, and rose from my chair. I peered down at my friend, smiling; she looked so peaceful, so serene. I smoothed her hair, brushing the strands of her blonde air behind her ear, and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.

"I will come back tomorrow at night's break."

I whispered lowly to Sookie, knowing it was unlikely she would hear me, but wanting to offer comforting words all the same.

I silently motioned for Eric to follow me out of the room, and I headed towards the door, not waiting for him to lockstep. Eric lingered for a minute before exiting. His placid countenance belied none of his emotions as he softy shut the door to Sookie's recovery room behind him. But our maker-child bond was tepid and bizarre, almost _eerily_ calm.

Was my child okay? Had something harmed him while I had been focused on Sookie?

Feeling _my_ concern, Eric offered, switching to his native Swedish to hide the contents of our conversation, "The blood tie is strange, Fader. It is as if I am sharing her physical ailments. I imagine now, most of what I am feeling is a result of the morphine drip the doctors have her on."

"So then her pain…"

I asked, also in Swedish; my question unfinished but obvious.

"Was _excruciating_ … I could not shut her out. It became much easier once I had fed, but… is this what sharing blood supposed to be like?"

I left his question hanging in the air, unable to answer it for him.

Like my son, I had only ever fed a human a substantial amount of my blood with intents to make them my child – and not one of them had been a fairy. Vampires and fairies were natural enemies, for reasons that could be easily ascertained. But I _was_ certain that her pain should not have manifested almost corporeally within him; that was simply not how our blood worked. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I _knew_ that I was missing a critical piece of information – that something else _must_ have occurred between them – but I could not bring myself to entertain the thought. Instead, I wracked myself with guilt for diminishing the extent of my child's earlier anguish. I had understood he was distraught, but I had not realized his sufferings went beyond the metaphysical, that his efforts to distract himself were out necessity, and not simply desire.

That would not do; that would not do at all.

We continued to walk down the hallway and out of the hospital, towards the tunnels from which we had come. They would provide some modicum of privacy as we found shelter for the day. While I did not want to infringe on my child, I would not have time to return to Dallas before daybreak. Even if there had been time, I would not leave New Orleans, not without Sookie. She needed a real travel companion; her _trial run_ had proven that to me beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I made a mental note to call my King before sunrise, to report to my King how his message had been received and to provide an excuse for why my return had been delayed.

"May I rest with you, my son?"

"My home is always welcome to you, Fader. So you know, Pam will be with us also."

We descended into the underground, and I stopped Eric once I confirmed we were alone, grabbing him by the arm to impede his hasty stroll.

I growled, "You brought Pam with you to New Orleans… to watch after Sookie?"

The disappointment, and irritation, of my tenor rang through the hallway as I switched from Swedish back to English. I liked Pam; I had no issue with my son's child per se. But I wanted to hide my future child as much as possible from the vampire community, limit the number of those who knew of her existence.

"No, Fader," Eric did not drop his native dialect, something he often did when he feared my wrath, "I called Pam during… Addy's… surgery. The nurse said the hospital needed information – her age, her parents' contact information, address, among other things. Things I did not know, and did not want to disturb you with. I was… indisposed, from the pain and…" He trailed off – we both knew what else he had captured his attentions – before continuing, "Pam is a strong second, and quite adept at sleuthing out information. She found all of the details they required, took care of all of the paperwork."

My anger dispelled instantly. Eric had acted smartly, and with my interests in mind. I would not have dragged myself away from Sookie for anything in that moment. If I had to attend to such trivialities, it would have thrown me into a tailspin, threatened the tenuous hold I had on my emotions. I had already almost lost my composure once that night.

He had made me proud, and this time with no hint of disappointment.

I released Eric's arm from my grip, nodding my thanks and appreciation.

He finally switched back to English, to crush any lingering concerns I had to dust, "I have commanded Pam not to relay any of the specifics she secured, anything she has learned, or to even speak of… Addy… to _anyone_."

I could plainly see my son was taking great pains not to call her Sookie. Perhaps he _was_ finally warming to her, and perhaps not just because he was in her blood.

"It is not your fault," I said softly, speaking to my son in a voice I had never used with him, "what happened to Sookie, I mean. It is not your fault, and I do not blame you."

He nodded his acceptance, and I turned to vamp away, beat the sun to his safe house.

We reached our destination minutes before sunrise, and locked ourselves into separate light-tight spaces without sharing another word. I shared quick words with my King about Sophie Anne, the Louisiana Queen. When I hung up, my mind flooded with the insecurities I had been holding at bay.

Had I made a mistake?

Surely, Sookie would agree that saving her humanity had been a more important endeavor than entertaining her inane fears regarding a building and its occupants. Many humans were touted to be scared of 'the doctor.' I shrugged Eric's assertion that she had begged him not to take her, to turn her instead – it must have been the blood loss. She was not in her right mind in that moment, not herself.

I succumbed to my day death, sure that I had, in fact, made the right choice.

* * *

The walls were shaking violently as I woke that night, my consciousness returning on a dime. Instantly, my senses tingled, and I jumped to my feet, on high alert. An undeniable roar pervaded the house, echoing from the floors to the rafters. I imagined at its decibel it could be heard from the street.

 _Eric_.

I was on my feet immediately, tearing the door off its hinges, and tossing it aside like it was paper. My fangs snicked down as I readied to strike at whatever was attacking my child, causing him such agony and turmoil. He had to have been woken from his own day death, which held the implication his anguish was life-threatening. Otherwise, his age only allowed him to rise an hour or so before the sun at most, which was less than my age afforded me.

I was going to rip the intruder limb from limb, inviting my bloodlust to overtake me as I stalked through the shadowed space. Never had I been so grateful my son had invested in human's tinting technologies, which had given him access to prototypes that effectively shut out the sun. Without his philanthropy, I risked losing him, unable to leave my room. Before my beast consumed me, I made small blessings to my gods, thanking them for the boon.

I quickly flew to the source of the noise, and punched my hands through the door, splinters flying through the air as I wildly gestured my hand to bat them away. A few penetrated my skin, but not my heart, so I paid them no mind. I blurred into the room – my hands curled into claws – eager to save my son and destroy the encroacher.

But Eric was alone, bloody tears streaming down his face in tracks. He clutched at his head, still screaming as if he was being attacked by an invisible force. As I gazed upon him, I sobered instantly.

' _What is happening?_ ' I thought, my face betraying my confusion.

"Addy..." He sputtered out through gritted teeth, trying to bite back his pain, "She... is... in... trouble."

Little did I know, truer words had never been spoken.


	6. Blindsided – Bon Iver

_A/N: Thank yous to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

He'd done it for his child and himself, not for me – taking my life, chaining me to his side. I knew it was the truth, and so did he. He'd done me no real favors, delivered no mercies…

No, he'd merely prolonged my sufferings instead.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Floating through nothingness, I swore I heard someone apologize to me, telling me he was sorry _they_ had failed me… I tried to voice my acceptance, not knowing why he offered his regrets at all, but my body was uncooperative, dragging me further away, everything becoming darker and quieter…

* * *

A rhythmic, shrill, and continuous beeping noise in the background roused me from my dream-laced sleep.

As my eyes fluttered open, sunlight cascaded into them and I blinked several times, trying to remove the sleep that blurred my sight. My efforts were unsuccessful, so I reached my hand up to rub it away, pausing as I discovered that I was inadvertently tugging at something. What was I attached to? I pulled lightly again, trying to get my hand to my face, but whatever it was wouldn't reach that far. I struggled to make out what it was despite my inability to see – it kinda looked like a caterpillar, but that seemed unlikely. As consciousness began to settle in, I remembered that I did actually have _two_ hands, and I swiped away the film from my eyes with the back of hand number two. Even before my vision cleared, I recognized that my eyes weren't the only thing cloudy – my head felt pretty… foggy too.

Disoriented… that was the word I'd been grasping for. I felt disoriented.

I glanced about the room, scanning my gaze from one corner all the way to the other. It was sterile-looking and painted in that off-white color that usually made people think of hospitals. He _didn't_ … I thought as my eyes widening as I finished my panoramic intake, resting finally on the heart monitor machine to my right, and the IV bag stand beside it. The tubing led to the needle sticking out of my hand, and I waved it in front of me. Many many hands, like an array of still photos, flashed before me.

Shit.

I took a lay of the land.

Raggedy Andy – yep, I was never going to call him Eric again, not after this glaring betrayal – had brought me to a hospital, despite my protestations that he do _anything_ but, and now I was practically high as a kite. The only thing about the situation that made me feel halfway okay, like the floor wasn't going to cave in on my life, was that Eric didn't know _anything_ about me – not really. I hadn't even given him my last name when we met.

I breathed a quick sigh relief; he may have brought me to the hospital, but he wouldn't have been able to tell them who I was – especially since all of my money and IDs had been stolen by the woman who'd stabbed me.

Oh yeah… I'd been stabbed.

I lifted the blanket draped over me and set it aside, feeling the cool air assault my skin almost instantly. Shivering, I pulled up the hospital gown I was dressed in to inspect my wounds. I ignored the expected bruises in varying shades of color and the fading, scabbed scars to peel back the bandage. I ghosted my fingers along my newest acquisitions – two lacerations sewn up with what I hoped were dissolving stitches. Because I had no intentions of staying put any longer than I had to – and by had to, I meant however long it took to unhook myself and find acceptable clothing to walk the streets in. An open-backed hospital gown wouldn't do if I wanted to get more than twelve feet outside the building without people assuming I was an escaped mental patient. That wasn't the kind of attention I hoped to draw, not that I wanted any at all. In fact, I wanted to erase this whole trip from my mind like it had never happened.

I needed to get back to Dallas, beat my dad home from his work trip.

I felt a pervasive guilt as I planned to flee from a place that surely had come with a bill I had the means to pay – once I got a hold of new bank cards. I hated to think that hard-working people had diligently sought to save my life, and I was about to leave them high and dry, without a name or insurance information – certainly without stopping by some sort of desk to pay. Not that I could, again all of my credit cards and cash had been stolen, but I wasn't even considering making the effort – because I _couldn't_. Anonymity was the only thing assuring that my saved life would stay that way. My father had been more than clear what would happen if anyone ever found out about the violence in our home, or engaged the authorities, on purpose or by accident. He'd even punctuated his threats, scattered over the years, by reminding me that my life was his to take – because I _belonged_ to him, and he had free range to treat his possessions however he wanted.

 _However_ he wanted.

I pulled my gown down, popped off the suction cups on my chest, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The IV pulled again at my hand, and I ripped it out, watching the liquid dribble slowly onto the floor. I didn't know what it was, but I imagined once I'd been without it for a while the haze in my mind would dissipate. My bare feet kissed the cold tile, and I fought back the urge to climb back under the warm blanket, tearing it from the bed instead to wrap around me. It was easier than trying to secure the back of the gown while I hunted for suitable clothing options. Mine were likely covered in blood, stained red, so those wouldn't do, even if I managed to find them. Scrubs – I needed to find a pair of scrubs, which I figured would be an easy task to accomplish, since it was a hospital and all.

But my bladder screaming its need for a reprieve had me staggering into the bathroom instead of searching for appropriate garments.

I found myself not only thankful for the ensuite bathroom but also for the private room, having heard that many facilities jammed people together, trying to capitalize on space. I shut the door and shrugged the blanket to the floor as I took care of my needs. The bathroom was a full, not a half, and I was shocked to see a floral tea dress hanging from the shower curtain rod, as if it was meant for me to find. Who had done this? In my quick musings, I'd imagined Eric had practically dumped me outside the ER before whisking away into the night, and no one else even knew I was here. I didn't trust my memories – that he had warmed to me and wished I wouldn't die – so I had to assume we were still at odds with each other. He probably hated me just as much as he had initially, maybe _more_.

I guessed I should've been happy I was alive at all.

But I still didn't understand the dress. So I assumed maybe it had been left by whoever had the room before me. The garment wasn't my style per se – it was a little gauche in my opinion – but it wasn't scrubs, so I figured it was the best of all alternatives. I flushed the toilet, and dropped my paper-thin hospital covering to the ground, grabbing the dress and pulling it over my head. It was a perfect fit, and I found I was grateful for the shelf bra since I didn't know where the hell my actual bra had gone off to. It even had pockets – full of cash! – I realized as I slipped my hands inside. Maybe I had a guardian angel, because someone out there was definitely looking out for me. Or maybe I'd just become an opportunistic thief.

Either way, I needed money to get home, and money was there.

It was what it was.

As I peered at myself in the mirror, I was surprised. My skin had a luminescent glow to it, and my usually sunken eyes looked bright without any makeup at all. Apparently almost dying looked good on me, but my disbelief had me checking not once or twice, but three times at a close distance in the mirror to be sure my eyes weren't mystically failing me. I traveled my gaze down to my décolletage, annoyed that the dress made my bosom look ample and buxom. Being wholly incognito was a lost cause it seemed. I was on display, but at least my butt wasn't hanging out – and I definitely didn't look like a patient.

Small mercies.

But, shoes. I needed shoes.

My bare feet demanded casings as I exited the bathroom and walked back into the room. My feet dragged along the cold floor, the drugs in my system still affecting me. As I approached the bed, although I hadn't seen them before, I spied a pair of sandals neatly aligned with the edge of bed. They, again, weren't mine, but at closer inspection they _were_ my size. So I slipped my feet into them, one by one, to find they were more comfortable than they looked, plush to an extent. I felt less than sure that their appearance in my room was accidental, second-guessing the dress and money as well. But I was unable to reconcile their existence with what I knew of my rescuer. Ezra's child found me obnoxious and unpalatable at best – abhorrent at worst – so whoever had been so meticulously helpful wasn't likely him.

But if it wasn't him, then who the hell was it?

I didn't know, and I couldn't bother myself to expend the time or energy to care. Future Me could mull that one over. I'd already been lucky enough that no one had noticed I'd disconnected myself from the monitors meant to alert the staff to any deteriorating conditions, so I wasn't looking to push my luck any further.

After rifling through drawers, I located some gauze scissors, cutting the ID bracelet off my wrist. I inspected it, pleased with the results – 'J. Doe.' Of course, I completely neglected to check the chart hanging off the end of the bed; in hindsight, I should've done that too. I tossed the ID bracelet into the trash after scribbling down the patient number on a torn scrap of paper I tucked into my pocket. I didn't want to carry any evidence on me that I'd been here, but I also wanted a means to pay anonymously in the future. I had some cash now, but I was going to need it to pay for cab fare to the airport, and possibly a change fee since my original flight was scheduled for Friday. Thank goodness I hadn't kept everything important in that fanny pack, like my plane ticket or my passport.

Then I'd definitely be up a creek without a paddle.

I noted that a shirt, cornflower blue, had also been shoved into the trashcan. _Raggedy Andy's_ shirt. I grabbed it, ignoring the blood stains – my blood – and balled it up until it fit into my hand. I don't know why I wanted to keep it, but I took it with me all the same. It seemed counterintuitive to my desire to shove this whole incident under the rug, but at that moment, I blamed it on the mind-fog. Plus, its smell – his musk – was comforting.

I did a once-around the room to see if there was anything else of mine that I'd forgotten to grab.

There wasn't, but I practically flew to the bathroom to grab the blanket from the floor, folding it hastily. It wasn't a jacket, but I realized I might need something to stave off the slight chill in the air, and anything was better than nothing. I tucked the bloodied shirt under its folds before I deftly opened the door to check for personnel – visually and telepathically. Finding none, I carefully snuck around corners and down hallways until I found an unmanned, unarmed exit.

I fist-pumped my victory as I tore away from the hospital, and into the streets of New Orleans, hobbling along at a surprising clip. I'd gone completely unnoticed, been practically invisible – another skill my father had taught me, even though he hadn't done it on purpose.

I walk-ran down the street, my right hand pressed against my stomach, my sandals clicking against the concrete until I reached my hotel. Thankfully, the streets looked much more familiar in the light of day, and I found the building with relative ease. I hustled together my few belongings after grabbing a new keycard from the desk, and then signed the bill for the room. I was thankful they didn't need my credit card again, since it had been stolen, and I apologized that I was leaving a day earlier than my original booking. The concierge called me a taxi, and I waited, bag in hand, on the curb in front of the building.

Fifteen minutes later, my cab arrived, and I tucked myself and my stuff into the back seat, wincing from the slight pain in my abdomen as I did so. I let the driver know I'd pay him twice the fare if he cut the time it usually took to get to the airport in half.

I was desperate to leave New Orleans far _far_ behind me.

He earned every cent I paid him, and less than three hours after I woke up, I was on a plane headed back to Dallas. Of course, as it turned out, I was no idea what kind of trouble was waiting for me on the other side of the state line. Had I known that, I certainly would _not_ have rushed home.

* * *

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

* * *

 _'When's takeoff?'… "_ I hope Jimmy's gonna pick me up like he promised. _"… 'I wonder if it's supposed to itch like that?'_

I tried to listen to my music – as loudly as possible – while my plane back to Dallas was taxied on the runway, awaiting departure. I was desperate to focus my attentions on something other than the thoughts whooshing through my head or the ache radiating from my injuries. It was becoming crystal clear to me that my wounds hadn't just been superficial; I had probably had surgery. Was it even safe to fly after that? I didn't know, but I felt like it was too late to turn back now.

Even though I _really_ wanted to; the cacophony was nearly deafening.

 _'Ugh, do my pits always smell like this?' … "_ In, one two three four five; out, one two three four five _." … 'Wonder where they keep the booze.'_

The IV I'd so eagerly pulled out had definitely contained some potent as hell pain medication – something I was in desperate need of. Once my numbed haze had started wearing off – about halfway to the airport – the dull stabbing sensation in my gut had started settling in. That small throbbing had been ratcheting up with each imprudent move I made. But I'd forced myself to soldier on, to don a bright, albeit tight, smile to mask any physical indications that I was anything less than in tiptop shape.

In short, I looked about a thousand times better than I felt.

 _'I must remember to call Fintan later.' … "_ Mile high club, here I fucking cum. Haha _." … 'Dear Lord, please keep us safe.'_

In truth, on a pain scale, the ache in my abdomen only barely eclipsed some of the smacks and jabs I'd experienced at the hands of my father. But somehow everything was still markedly different. Possibly because, much to my chagrin, my telepathic shields were all atwitter – like something had smashed up against them, weakened them. Sure, they'd failed before, but never for this long, and never like this. They were up, then down without warning – and I had no control over them at all. The inner voices of my fellow passengers had been flooding in and out of my mind at random intervals since boarding the aircraft. I could no longer tell what was being said out loud and what was not. It was my own personal, private hell.

This was not my day it seemed.

"... I _shudder_ to think what would have happened if Breandan found her first."

His tone has sounded so alarmed, the hair prickled up on my arms and I had goosebumps. It scared me, and I reacted in kind.

"What? Who?"

I said, pulling my nearly-screaming earbuds out to address the stranger to my left whose strange utterance had captured my attention.

"I did not say anything."

He raised his eyebrow, expressively.

"You will find much easier to block out all the _noise_ if you sleep, or take pain medication. But I'm sorry to say I can only help with the former."

The salt and pepper-haired man said in a gravelly, but tender voice, peering into my cerulean blues with his own dark but gentle eyes. He had a travel pillow held out to me that I imagined he'd pulled from his own carry-on. This flight didn't offer amenities like that.

 _'Wish someone'd just give me a fuckin' pillow.'_

"Ummm… thank you…"

I stuttered out in response, as I accepted it.

His unsolicited advice surprised me, and seemed to carry a double meaning I was none too eager to dissect, or discuss. Much later, his words' meaning would be undeniable, easily interpreted. But in this moment, they merely confused me and threw me off-kilter.

"You are welcome…" He responded, with a wink. "No trouble at all…"

' _… little fairy…_ '

He thought in his head as he finished out loud, "I have cases to pour over anyways. No rest for wicked it seems."

I smiled but said nothing in response, turning away to watch the plane take off.

I once again shrugged off the strange term of endearment that I'd now heard twice – the first time from Eric. Future Me could worry about whether or not it meant something more. There were too many other voices swimming in my head to even dream of being able to hear my own.

 _'Pulling away…'_ "Shame she drank the blood…" _'Fucking finally…' "_ Milk, eggs, bacon…" _'Shit! Forgot a mag…'_

As the cabin began to decompress, a slight chill came over me. So I reached down and pulled my blanket around me, draping it over my shoulders, hugging Eric's shirt against my chest. Thankfully, my own dried blood had done nothing to override the musky scent of the sea; the smell was comforting, centering. Not a minute later, I tucked the pillow against the side of window, and slipped my earbuds back in, flipping my music player back on. Once the dulcet tones of Sarah Brightman's _Time to Say Goodbye_ overwhelmed my senses, my eyes drooped closed almost instantly.

I fell asleep not long after that.

* * *

 _'I'm not gonna make my next flight at this rate.'_

One of the flight attendants thought as she lightly tapped me on the shoulder to rouse me. I rubbed my eyes and removed my earbuds, stifling the urge to stretch and possibly pull at my stitches as I shook off my sleep. I quick-folded my blanket, ensuring I'd tucked Eric's shirt inside, and disengaged the seatbelt. Rising from my seat to peer about the cabin, I noted I was going to be the last person to deplane.

"Mr. Cataliades… your seatmate," the flight attendant offered as my brow furrowed in confusion, "asked me to wait until everyone else was gone to wake you."

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

I appreciated gesture more than he would ever know – getting bumped trying to fight my way up cluttered aisle would've probably been painful. Plus, skin to skin contact sometimes made it harder to block people's thoughts – and I was already having enough trouble as it was.

"He also said to let you know you can keep the pillow."

"Thank you. But I don't need it. Is there any way you can get it back to him?"

I held the pillow out to her gingerly, treating it with care, and she accepted it with a broad smile.

"Sure!" She said cheerfully, "He flies with this route a lot…"

 _'Such a great guy.'_

* * *

Not too long later, I was riding in the backseat of a taxi, my bag in the trunk, as we barreled down highway 75 towards my home.

Before I left the airport, I'd made a quick stop at one of the many convenience locations in DFW. I'd purchased a small bottle of pain reliever, swallowing two times the recommended dosage. The reward had been worth the risk to my liver just to get my shields stable and mostly back into place – which they now were. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had conquered the world. Sure, I'd gotten hurt – and I was still hurting – but no one knew. And with my dad still gone for at least another day, which meant I could close up any loose ends – pay the hospital bills, etc. – without having to worry about being eavesdropped on, getting caught. I expected my mother to question why I'd come home early, but I intended to pass it off as homesickness.

It was only a _little_ white lie – I _had_ missed my sister Ginny.

My music playlist turned over, playing _Time to Say Goodbye_ once again, as the cab turned onto my street. I smiled as I bobbed my head along to Sarah Brightman's ethereal voice, even as the taxi pulled up into my driveway. I paid, and slipped out of the cab, dancing up the driveway with luggage in tow. The tune ended almost the very second I placed my hand on the backdoor.

The song had been quite portentous, as it turned out. Something I didn't realize until it was far too late.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

By the time I got home, sunset was maybe only a couple hours or less away.

It was funny to me how I'd started noticing that sort of thing ever since I became friends with Ezra. I wondered if he'd want to go running since I'd come back to Dallas early. I made a mental note to call him once the sun fully descended.

Being a vampire, I couldn't imagine he'd wake up any earlier.

I stepped inside the back door and shrugged off my sandals onto the tile floor, so that I could quietly tip-toe upstairs. Once I reached my room, I slipped inside and made quick work to undo what had been my too eventful trip to New Orleans. Before anything else, I divested myself of the floral tea dress I'd found in to the hospital, and tugged on some terry cloth shorts and a black tank top. Then I flopped my suitcase onto the bed, to undo my hurried packing job.

As I hastily put up my travel things, I heard a soft knock at my bedroom door.

"Addy?" I heard my mother call out sweetly, "Is that you?"

I threw my remaining travel clothes into the hamper, and tucked the dress I'd found at the hospital and Eric's bloodied shirt under my mattress. I'd figure out what I was going to do with them later. I popped the purchased pill bottle into my pocket – no harm in having my pain relief close at hand.

I walked over to the door, and gingerly opened it halfway, popping my head through the small space.

"It's me. I decided to come home a day early. _Homesickness_ ," I offered by way of an excuse as she quirked a brow, "Is there something you needed?"

"Can I come in? I'd like to talk to you," She said, placing her manicured hand on the edge of the door, but not pushing at it.

I stepped away from the door, opening it fully, and gestured with the sweep of my arm for her to come in. She ambled into the room behind me as I walked towards the bed, leaving the door open. As I turned around to face my mother, to engage her in conversation, she poked me roughly in the gut, and I shrieked loudly as pain bombarded through me and threatened to drop me to my knees.

But even on shaky legs, I managed to stand tall as she quickly pulled her hand away. I could feel wetness dripping down my stomach. I knew without checking that her unexpected assault had broken some, if not all of my newly formed scabs and stitches. I resisted the urge to wrap my arm around my waist, to press against my wound to staunch the pain – it hadn't worked in New Orleans, and I doubted it would work now.

I hadn't even processed my mother's shocking actions before she hissed out at me, with fear in her tone and tears spilling from her eyes.

"When the doctor called and said your so-called _brothers_ ," She finger-quoted, "dropped you off at the hospital in New Orleans, I was so sure, _so sure_ they'd made a mistake. But it's true then? You let yourself get stabbed in New Orleans!?"

My eyes widened in shock and panic traveled through the expanse of my body, and her words settled within me – although, at the time, her 'brothers' comment failed to land. I felt dumbstruck, and caught off-guard, cemented to the position I had taken, cowering under my normally placid mother. I didn't know what to do; I didn't know what to say.

So that was my response – a whole lotta nothing.

"C'mon Addy, can't you do anything right?! Anything at all?! You know your father's sanity is hanging by a thread most times! Thank _GOD_ he's out of town, and wasn't here to get the call from the fucking hospital!"

Her volume crescendoed from a normal volume to an all-out roar, capturing the attention of my little sister, who trepidatiously padded into my room. Her brown eyes glistened as they consumed the scene set before her. Our mother stood towering over me, and I was shaking – partially from my aggravated wound, but mostly out of fear.

I tried not to look as pathetic as I felt – to be strong for my younger sister – but I imagined that I failed miserably.

"Mom, what's going on?"

Ginny whispered softly, trembling lightly.

I regretted the tears I saw slip down her cheeks. As always, I wanted to scoop her into my arms and protect her, but I couldn't – not without making matters worse. My mother had never yelled at me before, not in seventeen years – despite everything my father had put her through. I imagined she had a lot to get off her chest, and I was okay letting her direct her anger at me. In fact, I felt like I _needed_ to play the villain and suffer my mother's pent-up wrath, so that everything could go back to normal. So that we could get to the other side of my mistake – not that I truly believed I had done anything at all to deserve her ire.

What I was _willing_ to accept blame for wasn't always my fault.

"Go to your room," My mother growled at my sister, her tear-filled eyes flitting with darkness, "I'm dealing with your insolent, disobedient sister," She turned back to me, "You had one job! ONE JOB!"

"I didn't mean to…"

I mumbled, tears pricking at the edges of my blue eyes. If she had even heard my small protestation, she ignored it, and continued her spontaneous tirade. My mother didn't even wait for Ginny to leave, as if she had already forgotten about her altogether.

"You've got a good thing here, Addy! We all do! Why're you trying to mess it up you're going to ruin this for all of us?!"

Her rant broke my will to be submissive, and bear her anger. A good thing?! She thought getting hit, and belittled was a _good_ thing?!

"How can you say that?! He abuses us, acts like he _owns_ us – like we're just his possessions!"

I screeched back, inexplicably finding my strength.

My mother stumbled a few steps back from me, surprised that I had shouted at her. As far as she knew, I'd never yelled at anyone before. The good little Harding girls were supposed to be seen, and not heard.

But not a second later, it appeared it was _my_ turn to be knocked back, off-kilter.

" _You are_ … just a possession, I mean."

Her timbre was drained of emotion, cold and shallow.

" _What_?"

I squeaked out, suddenly feeling tiny and insignificant.

"We bought you."

She wiped away her previous tears with the cuff of her blouse, sweeping her fingers under her eyes to remove any stray trails of mascara. Pulling a compact from her pocket, she confirmed that she'd been successful, dabbing the smallest bit of powder about her t-zone to reset her face. Sufficiently 'pulled together,' she continued to explain.

"You're just something we own, something we _needed_ to go along with the white picket fence and the shiny sedans. Two point five and all. Not Ginny though. Second times the charm, I guess …"

"What're you saying?"

My voice trembled as tears spilled down my face. Ginny made a move towards me, but I ushered her away, waving my hand at her from my side. ' _But Addy…_ ' She thought at me, and I shook my head, my meaning clear – _Go, I'll be okay_. She light-toed it out of the room, my mother none the wiser.

Small mercies.

"Oh, Addy, don't pretend you didn't know," She sneered at me, tapping the temple of her head as if she expected me to fill in the blanks for her, but while I had an inkling at what she was saying, I needed to hear it – for her to say it plainly. "You were fucking adopted, you idiot! We didn't even get to name you! Soo-key; what kind of dumb, backwater hick name is that anyways!?"

And there it was. The truth.

I gaped my surprise.

"Oh close your mouth, for Christ's sake! You knew! How could you not? You're a fucking mind-reader!"

I hadn't known – not really; her utterance blindsided me.

My glass house shattered, but I didn't have time to freak out, or even fully absorb my mother's – Paige's, I guess – words. Because not one second later, "PAIGE! WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?" echoed through the house as my father – Henry – home inexplicably early from his business trip, stormed across the first floor's hardwoods and stomped up the stairs.

Paige shoved me behind her, as he bounded into my room, and I crouched down to hide behind her. She had just admitted that I wasn't her biological child – maybe she had only _claimed_ to love me – but she still acted like a mother hen towards me all the same.

"Henry…" she sputtered out, trying to regain her composure and steel her triggered nerves. She smoothed at her dress, and donned a bright, tight smile, "You're home early!"

"Can it, Paige! Where is the little bitch!?"

He bit out, and I could see despite my obfuscated view that his hands were fisted at his sides.

Somehow, he _had_ to have heard about the hospital; there was no doubt in my mind that it was the cause of his latest unhinging. I didn't need to see his eyes to know his thoughts were clouded black, that his monster had been unleashed. I dropped my shields, and his murderous thoughts assaulted me. He didn't just intend to teach me a lesson I'd never forget, he wanted to choke the life out of me until I turned blue. He pictured it with an attention to detail that terrified me.

It wasn't an empty threat; if I didn't get the hell outta here, he _was_ going to kill me.

My flight response kicked in, and I tore through the vanity room door on the side of my room. I launched myself towards the stairs. I _had_ to run, run as far away as I could from the house. My mind felt hazy from the throbbing pain in my belly, but I found the strength to remain focused – on my safety, on my sister's.

"GINNY, LOCK YOUR DOOR!"

I screamed as I reached the stairs, smiling as I heard the slam and the tell-tale click that told me her position was fortified. I'd come back for her to take her away from this hell, with Ezra at my side, just as soon as night fell – like I _should've done_ years ago, I chided myself. I'd never even told my friend about the horrors I'd faced, but I would eat crow tonight. A vampire could beat a human monster, I was sure of it. Mistakes and lies, those were all I had up until now. But I would get away, I would make things right – once and for all.

WHAM!

I felt Henry rabbit-punch me – side-chop me in the back of my neck – which caused me to topple halfway down the stairs. One of my shoulders got knocked out of socket, my left ankle twisted like a Twizzler, and one of my stitches definitely busted open, but it didn't slow me down. My vision danced with bright stars as I dragged myself to my feet at the bottom of the stairs. The influx of adrenaline beat back the agony that, in all truth, should've reduced me to my knees. I limped at the fastest clip I could muster, reaching the middle of the kitchen before I was grabbed roughly by the waist from behind.

Shit.

Henry wrenched me around and slammed me into the wall, caging me in between his arms.

"You and your little fucking lies! Your fucking doctor called CPS! They think _I'VE_ been abusing you! After all I've done for you, YOU SPIT IN MY FACE! Is that what you wanted, you little bitch?! To embarrass me and your mother _like you always do_?! NEVER AGAIN! YOU'LL _NEVER_ DO IT AGAIN!"

He pulled me forwards to slam me back again, and my head bounced off the textured wallpaper like it was a red rubber ball. In less than a second, his hand was clutched tightly around my neck. He pressed my body back against the wall and lifted me from the floor. I clawed at his hand, my skin burning from his touch, and I tried him with kick my legs. But my adrenaline high had gone, so my efforts died almost as quickly as they started. I squeezed my eyes shut as I gasped for air like a fish flopping around on a dock.

Out of nowhere, I saw Paige jump on Henry's back. She hit him over and over as hard she could, but he pushed her back a couple of steps, and knocked her on her butt. She pressed herself back to her feet and went at him again. But this time, he batted her away like a fly, shoving her hard into the kitchen's island counter. Paige – my mother – elicited an ear-piercing howl before crumbling to the floor. Ginny popped up out of nowhere to help her, and me.

 _Nooooo_ … I cried out in my head.

I tried to summon everything within me to fight again, to pull every ounce of strength I had into one metaphysical spot. Because maybe just maybe, if I could beat him off, I could save us all. I felt a surge of power, and then Henry's grip eased, and fell – his eyes wide as saucers. When he released me, I didn't collapse to the floor as I would've expected. Instead it was like I was suspended in jello or something, floating off of the ground. I saw Henry cowering, curled into a ball at _my_ feet.

I imagined I was hallucinating. So I paid the whole scene much less than mind than I probably should have, let myself act purely on instinct.

As I succumbed to the feelings welling up within me, I realized my entire body was being engulfed by a white hot light, my skin tingling and itching from the heat. I was lit up like a Christmas tree... like Tinkerbell, in that Peter Pan-ish movie I'd seen starring Robin Williams – _like a fairy_. The revelation hit me like a ton of bricks to the head – hard and without time to dodge the blow.

Ohhhh…!

 _Many_ things I had heard made more sense, even if I couldn't _fully_ comprehend their meaning in that exact moment.

The light culminated, and then exploded out of me in a ring of fire, encompassing the space. I heard the chilling cries of my family around me, screaming in my ears, as I fell to the ground, exhausted and spent. I blinked several times, feeling a cool wetness dribbling down my cheek, and struggling to see past the billowing smoke cloud obscuring my vision. I laid there for several minutes, trying to still my rapidly beating heart. Every nerve I had was on edge, like I had been electrocuted.

I guess, in a way, I had been.

"Mom?"

I whisper-yelled, hoping I'd actually managed to kill Henry. I refused to feel bad about it; he'd deserved that, and worse.

I thrust my uninjured arm beneath me to raise myself from the floor, using the wall behind me for balance. I stumbled a bit on my mangled ankle and fell right back onto my butt, yelping instinctively as it hit the floor. The pain in my stomach spiked, and I hugged my injured arm against the spot, shooting searing pain through me once more. I bit my lip, hard, trying to summon the strength to push the agony back – or really just trying to distract myself.

It didn't work.

"Paige!"

I hissed through gritted teeth at a more elevated volume than my previous utterance, coughing from the smoke had finally begun to dissipate.

My heart leapt in my throat as I consumed the gruesome scene before me.

Bodies.

Bodies lay around me.

Stilled, rigid, eyes and mouths opened wide…

… little billows of smoke rising from their chests.

 _Dead_ bodies.

Acidic bile crept up my throat and I retched over and over until I had nothing left in me to expel. My throat burned something fierce, and while I physically felt it, metaphysically I was numb. I could barely process the scene laid out before me, let alone try to emotionally digest it.

Henry… Paige… _Ginny_ …

All of them.

Dead.

Tears spilled from my eyes in hordes, and instantly I became a blubbering mess, unable to catch my breath. I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering 'no, no, no, no, no' over and over, at a crescendoing volume.

 _Ginny_ … My sister.

 _Ginny_ … My best friend.

 _Ginny_ … My heart.

I'd failed her. _I'd_ killed her. Them.

All of them.

Including _Ginny_.

Guilt vice-gripped my mind, and on a pin, my thoughts turned suicidal. I wanted to be dead, and anywhere but here. _Anywhere_. I squeezed my eyes shut, digging my nails into my arms as I hugged myself close. The pain didn't register, none of it – from my arms or my bleeding abdomen.

Numbness had set it.

POP.

The noise startled me, and I fell over – noting something wet and sharp below me. As I peeled my eyes open, I realized somehow I'd been transported to the edge of White Rock Lake. While the rippling waves bespeckling the man-made lake usually comforted me, now they seemed to be taunting me instead. They reminded me with each curl and spit that I had taken something precious, as beautiful as nature itself, out of this world – _Ginny_.

Intentionally, unintentionally – those were just words.

It had happened all the same.

I sat up swiftly – ignoring the sharp pain the action drew from my shoulder and stomach. Something jostled in my pocket from my rapid movement. I thrust my hand inside, and it emerged with a rattling case – my pain pills. The pills I had taken to abate… my… _pain_. In seconds, I had tossed the childproof cap aside and downed the whole bottle, cupping at the swamp-like lake water to wash the chalky tablets down. I choked on the dirty liquid, and coughed, reflexively pulling up on my haunches.

But the pills stayed down all the same.

I laid down in the dewy grass next to the embankment, obviated by shrubs and trees. I thrust my legs out before me, and crossed my arms over my chest. I closed my eyes as twilight descended, breathing deeply over and over, and tried to will myself into oblivion, even though I had no doubts that my overdose would kill me in time. I wanted to slip away with some modicum of peace, drift into a wakeless, dreamless sleep – even if I was sure I deserved to suffer like hell instead. Perhaps that's what awaited me on the other side. But I wasn't nervous; I was ready to meet my maker, atone and pay for my sins.

Yes, I thought, Sarah Brightman had been right – it _was_ time to say goodbye.


	7. I Could Never Say Goodbye – Enya

_A/N: Okay, so for those of you who reviewed chapter 6 and got a preview of chapter 7 from Godric's POV, this will seem wrong - because it's not what you expected. Apologies. All I can say is that my muse pulled me in a completely different direction._

 _Many thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams and every single reader!_

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

I'd thought that I'd lost everything – my life, my family… my sanity. But little did I know that, in time, all three would be returned to me, just in a slightly different form and fashion. But I couldn't help but remember the warning I'd been given… that without careful action, history was likely to repeat itself.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

At least once a day, Fintan found his thoughts drifting towards the granddaughter he had only held in his arms once, the one who needed to stay hidden now more than ever. He wondered what she preferred for breakfast, how she fared in her schooling, what color she favored – he posited on it all. From what shade her hair color had become to which loop she made first when tying her shoes, he imagined each detail to an almost excruciating degree. His heart often ached, dying to know all about the life he had missed, the one he had protected with a cluviel dor, a faery wish.

Mostly he hoped she was inexplicably happy, but he feared that much like himself, she was not.

It was not as if Fintan did not appreciate his new lodgings or life, especially since he spent each day and night wrapped up in the arms of his true love. He adored living in the Human Realm, just not the reason he had found himself standing outside the front door of the house on Hummingbird Lane over ten years prior. Adele had welcomed him with open arms – without a word passing between them – and Fintan had been all too eager to step into her embrace. He was desperate to grab for some sense of normalcy, stability – to protect the little family he had left.

Because more than a decade ago, the Purist's war, the civil battle amongst the Fae, had ended – with Breandan beheading Fintan's father, committing avunculicide.

* * *

 _Breandan held his gruesome show in public so the whole Faery Realm could bear witness, be certain without any lingering doubts who had won. Lochlan and Neave had stood by his side with crazy eyes and razor sharp blades, daring anyone to challenge the new ruler's claim to the throne. The two thrived on chaos and itched for an unfair fight. They preferred to toy with their adversaries, or chosen prey, like a cat bats at a trapped mouse. Fear fueled their lust for blood and destruction. But Breandan's victory signaled the unceremonious end of their fun unless insurgents appeared among the masses – moved against the Realm's new prince._

 _They sincerely hoped some unwitting fool would step forward, and sacrifice his life for their games._

 _But their bloody dreams were dashed as the entirety of the Fae people dropped to their knees, swearing fealty to their newest monarch whose boots were stained red. The previous prince laid in pieces at Breandan's feet, but the faeries' gazes refused to travel so low. It was easier, and safer, to lock step and declare allegiance than to risk being torn to shreds._

 _The Fae were nothing, if not fiercely protective of their ability to live for an almost endless number of years – all except for Fintan, who had traded his near eternity for the wish afforded by a cluviel dor._

 _But Fintan had not been present to witness the death of his father, or to rise up against the new regime. He was chained by his cousin, Breandan, awaiting his own sentence in a cell as the unsettling gasps rang out from the crowd. He knew in that moment that Niall was gone, his three thousand years ended with the swipe of what Fintan imagined was a sharp blade – from the sound its swing had echoed into the air. He winced and covered his ears, unwilling to listen to Purists' roar of approval, to the world he knew come crashing down around him. He hoped his own death would be just as swift, but also the last of Breandan's show._

 _In short, Fintan had prayed to the Gods that he was the only other prisoner left in the castle's cells._

 _Sweat beaded on his forehead as he wrung his shackled hands. He feared his part-faery granddaughter was among those left to face execution – like he believed_ himself _to be. He could not help but worry that Breandan had amassed a great crowd, every last citizen of the Faery Realm because he intended to mark his territory, publicly massacre the last of the halflings as a tribute to the Gods. The Purists, the victors in the Faery War, subscribed to the notion that those who sullied the blood – carried it in a diluted form – had desecrated its importance and angered the Gods who had created their race. They had slaughtered each and every half-blood without impunity, without restraint or mercy. As far as Fintan knew, unless another faery had accomplished a feat similar to his own, his granddaughter was the sole surviving part-Fae in all the world, in any realm._

 _Although impervious to magical detection – thanks to the power of cluviel dor – Fintan_ wanted _to trust it also meant she was beyond the faction's clutches. But one of his father's closest guards had been exposed as a quisling, so he found himself afraid all the same._

 _His granddaughter not only carried Fae blood, but royal blood, which made her the worst sort of offender in the Purists' eyes. They believed in platitudes and absolutes. Because her blood had magical properties,_ she _would be identified as the root cause of the faery people's problem with infertility – or at least she_ would _be seen as such, if they had discovered she existed. As Fintan peered out the small barred window of his cell, the beauty of the hills and valleys juxtaposed against the eerie silence of his perceived demise, Fintan shed a single mutinous tear. He wished he had done many things differently – spent every possible moment with his granddaughter instead of magicking her away._

 _But Fintan flicked the wetness away as his cousin bounded into the room, and unshackled him._

 _"Do you know why I'm keeping you alive?" Breandan said, without waiting for Fintan to give a physical or audible response, "Well, let me tell you why, my_ dear cousin _. You and your father were fighting a losing battle from the get-go; you both betrayed our people, our race without even a second thought. And for what? So that some faery scum could run off and fuck humans? So our people could mate and reproduce with an inferior race, and ruin everything? You stood on the losing side, cousin, but I don't think you so much agreed with your father as fell in line. I_ know _you, Fintan; we grew up at each other's side. We're practically_ brothers _! For that, and_ only _that reason, Fintan, I spare your life. Cousin, believe me, if it was up to me, I would embrace you with open arms, but I can't do that. I CAN'T!"_

 _Breandan hissed out an uneasy breath through gritted teeth to calm his upheaved emotions before he continued._

 _"But you can't live here either, not as a traitor to your people, our people. No, you will live alone, and in shame, in the Human Realm. That will be your punishment, your absolution for standing against our people by following Niall. But know this, my dear cousin," Breandan warned, a threat evident in his tone, "My scry will never cease its search for halflings, and I don't believe in mercy. So keep your dick in your pants, if you catch my drift. Because while Lochlan and Neave would just adore having a new plaything, I suspect you would prefer not to gift them one. Tell me you understand."_

 _Fintan nodded, exhaling a breath he did not even realize he had been holding._

 _As Darick, Niall's treasonous imbecile of a second, officially exiled him from the Realm – Breandan closing all portals behind him – Fintan could not help but smile, despite his still-grieving heart. It had been an awful day, and he had suffered great, irreparable losses. But the Gods had answered his prayers, his granddaughter had not become a victim of the halfling massacre._

 _He knew because his cousin would have never left him with his life otherwise._

* * *

Once assured he had truly been left to his own devices, Fintan had begun an exhaustive and laborious search to locate his granddaughter. Since he had made his wish, he had been inexplicably worried for her safety, a tense and unsettling feeling continuously anchored in his gut at all times. What if she had not grown up with love or support? What if her human parents were cruel and cold, as he knew they could sometimes be? What if her life had been hard?

Those were the kinds of thoughts that kept him up at night.

He had given little thought, and no concern, to his people's greatest enemy – vampires. They were not _his_ , or those borne in his bloodline's biggest problem by any stretch of the imagination. Royal blood, being what it was, acted like a sort of poison to the whole of the blood-sucking race. It meant nothing that Fintan's granddaughter was only a partial faery because she was royalty all the same, her blood just as potent and potentially deadly. Amongst the walking dead, she would be invulnerable, or at least undrainable – if a bloodsucker dared to taste her. It was the underlying, unspoken reason he had agreed to let her go, to leave her amongst mortals, knowing immortals intrigued and enticed by her smell hid in the shadows, in the night…

"Fintan?"

Adele called out, her utterance traveling from her position at the second floor staircase and ringing throughout the expanse of the house.

"Yes, Adele?"

He replied back from the first floor living room, shaking off his heavy thoughts of his father's murder and his fleeting worries about his granddaughter's uncertain future.

"Someone's callin' for you."

Fintan had not even heard the technology's jingling song, but still he rose from the floral couch and shuffled towards the kitchen, to reach the closest telephonic device. Pushing through the swinging door, he turned to lift the rotary phone from its wall pocket. He raised it to his ear, and made a request before addressing the unknown caller.

"Adele? I am on the line now, my sweets. Could you please hang up your side?"

He paused, waiting to hear the tell-tale click before continuing.

Although Fintan trusted Adele, with all his heart and soul, he had an inkling who the caller could be. He did not imagine she would appreciate it if she found out that he had been lying to her for the past seventeen years.

Like all the residents of Bon Temps, she believed that her youngest grandchild – Sookie Adele – had passed from the earth shortly before her birth. He did not have it in himself to tell her the truth, not yet. He knew it would break her heart to find out her son's daughter had been alive all these years but merely outside of the family's grasp. He could only _imagine_ how Sookie's mother would respond. Fintan desperately wanted to shield his human family from his maneuverings to locate the thought-dead child until she was found. But even then, he had no idea how he was going to explain to Adele or Sookie's mother and father why – or how – he had done what he had done.

But Fintan had resigned himself to jump that bridge once he came to it, and not a moment sooner.

"Fintan, if you are agreeable," Desmond said, not waiting for his friend to question his identity, knowing he would recognize him by voice, "Can you pop over to my law office in Dallas? I need to speak to you… face-to-face."

For years, Fintan's closest friend, Desmond Cataliades – a demon lawyer immersed in both the human and supernatural world – had been assisting him in the search for Sookie's whereabouts. As it turned out, hers had been a closed adoption, which he was learning had been crafted to prevent the very thing he desperately wanted – to find her.

So far, the only thing the pair had uncovered was dead-ends, and red herrings.

"Of course, my friend."

Fintan responded, not knowing what else to say to such an ominous sounding statement.

* * *

Remembering enough of the building's layout to transport inside of it with ease, Fintan was met by Desmond's assistant, Charity, who was quick to offer a beverage he just as swiftly denied. With a small smile and a nod of her head, she ushered him towards a walled-off meeting room, assuring him that Mr. Cataliades would join him momentarily. Fintan sank down into one of the black leather office chairs, noticing that it swiveled at the slightest movement. Anxious, he tapped his fingers on the mahogany table before him, the rhythm erratic and without intention.

A blank, but large TV adorned the wall at the end of the table, and Fintan took note of it, without sparing a second thought on its purpose.

Not minutes later, Desmond ambled into the room, gently closing the wooden door behind him. It was an uncharacteristically temperate gesture from the demon who normally crashed and bounded about like a bull in a china shop. Fintan pushed back his chair, to raise himself to his feet, but his friend's gesture asked him nonverbally to sit. Unable to form words, inexplicably nervous to the point of muteness, Fintan complied with a simple bow of his head. But he stiffened against the padded fabric as he slipped once again to a seated position, steeling himself for the bad news he expected to come.

Without explanation or ceremony, Desmond slumped into the chair across the table from him and snatched the remote from the table, powering on the TV and flipping it to a random news channel. The brightness and noise took Fintan off-guard and he flinched slightly as the scripted ramblings of a newscaster filled the air.

"We're still here in Central Dallas tonight," the young brunette woman exclaimed, a microphone clutched in her hand and inches from her mouth, "at the scene of a grisly murder in the Preston Hollow area, where three bodies – now identified as Henry, Paige, and Ginny Harding – were found electrocuted inside their moderately-sized suburban home. The killer, now dubbed the Berzerker..."

With a soft click, the screen flashed to another channel.

"...the Berzerker, nicknamed after a comic book character who possessed the supernatural ability to shock people with lightning, is still at large. Dallas police are asking anyone with information..."

Click.

"...kie Adele, or Addy as her friends called her, is presumed dead, although her body has yet to be recovered. An anonymous source has told us that the police found a shirt, sized for an adult male and covered in blood, shoved under the seventeen year old's mattress. DNA testing will show whether or not it is in fact..."

Click.

"... flight home this morning from a Spring Break trip to New Orleans, where hospital records indicate the missing Harding had been the victim of a brutal stabbing that perforated several of her organs, requiring immediate and extensive surgery..."

Desmond silenced the program with a press of the mute button.

"Why would you show me this?"

Fintan asked, still staring at the movement on the now silent screen, afraid he already knew the answer to his own question.

"I doubt it's national news, but here it's on every channel. No, let me back up… There was…" Desmond said cautiously, pausing every so often, "… a fairy girl, a _telepathic_ one… on the plane… next to me… when I traveled from Louisiana back to Dallas earlier today."

Fintan's breath hitched in his throat, but he stifled the noise, hiding it from his demon friend.

He had just _moments_ before been incognizant, or at least inadvertently unawares, of the implications of Desmond's statement. Fintan and Adele had long since forgotten the gift the demon had graced them with as she carried his first child, Corbett – Sookie's father. He had assumed, when Corbett was born without the gift to read human minds – a demon trait unnatural to his own kind – that Desmond's blood had simply gone to waste because it had not found a faery spark to attach itself to.

He had not considered it would linger until one presented itself, and the realization made him feel sick from embarrassment.

"Are you _sure_?"

Fintan asked, questioning both the belief that Desmond had not only sat next to one of his kind, but to one who was likely his own kin.

"Yes, I'm _positive_."

The certainty in the demon's growly voice did not escape Fintan's notice, but he felt out of sorts and like the world had been turned upside down all the same. His friend _had_ found _a fairy –_ probably _her –_ but it seemed there was more to it than that – _much_ more. Fintan was not sure if his stomach, or his nerves, could handle it.

"You know, I had vampire blood once…." Desmond grumbled out without waiting for Fintan's response, his gravelly tone sounding more worried and concerned than prickly or biting like usual, "Not by choice, mind you; not _really_. I'd been assaulted, aberrantly caught by surprise. I was fortunate enough, stupidly lucky, to stumble into a vampire who owed me an enormous favor as I stood perched on the precipice of death. I still needed help, after that I mean – vampire blood isn't exactly a cure-all…"

"Why are you telling me this?!"

Fintan exclaimed exasperatedly, gripping the arm rests of the chair as if they were lifelines. While he had accurately gleaned his friend's point, he hoped he was wrong all the same.

A sigh drifted quietly across the table before Desmond continued.

"It messed with me – the vampire blood – amplified my powers and made them go haywire. It warred inside me until it burned out. I almost died, _died_ mind you, despite the fact that demons are preternaturally strong... I'm telling you this because your granddaughter _reeked_ of vampire blood – whether she'd had a lot or a little, I could not say for sure..."

Fintan was not sure that one was infinitely better than the other. But before he could say a thing, Desmond continued motioning to the stationary picture of the young blonde girl dubbed "Addy" in the upper right-hand corner of the telecast.

Desmond sighed loudly, placing his hand on his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut in a surprisingly emotional display for the usually impassive demon.

"Addy, as they call her, _is Sookie_ , your granddaughter. _She's_ the fairy who sat right next to me on the plane. She wasn't well when I met her. Her telepathy was obviously paining her. I should've _stayed_ , should've done…" Desmond's breath hitched in this throat, "… so many things differently… in hindsight. I imagine whatever Fae powers she has were only _momentarily_ held at bay… I don't know, your kind is so fucking secretive," the volume of Desmond's voice raised and carried anger in its wake before subsiding, resigning itself again to sorrow, "…considering the events that surely followed, and her... unexplainable _absence_..."

Fintan stilled, aware that the most prevalent faery power was the ability to shoot white light from one's own form when properly agitated or threatened – and vampire blood, according to Desmond, was an unavoidable ignition switch. Desmond's implication, unavoidable and plain, was that she had died – spontaneously combusted, leaving nothing in her wake. Fintan had no means, or motivations, to argue against Desmond's unspoken conclusion, despondently stripped of all his hopes and dreams.

Because Desmond's assertion was logical – even if unpalatable – and the most likely of all scenarios, given the evidence.

With few words shared between them, Fintan languidly bid his goodbyes, bags appearing under his worried and tear-filled eyes almost instantly. His granddaughter was dead, and all the magics in the world could not bring her back. No one could cheat death. He had wasted his life, her life, on his father's war – to lose both abruptly and unexpectedly. Fintan did not know how to move forward, or what he would do next.

All he knew was that he would never truly be readied to say goodbye.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Darick stood motionless next to the unoccupied throne, waiting.

He spent many a day waiting, expecting for the floor to fall out beneath him. He had been a royal guard, a second by all accounts, for Prince Brigant, the fallen despot who had been disposed of unceremoniously and publicly by the former insurgent, now King – Breandan. Despite his ties to Prince Brigant, Darick had always felt a small tug towards the Purists' side of the war. Its platitudes were not only pleasing to him, but also logical – _of course_ , blood offenses would offend the Gods who had blessed his race with special gifts. He had a difficult time accepting Niall's espoused beliefs that supernaturals and humans were meant to mix and explore their bounds, but Darick never faltered in his service to his prince, or voiced his disagreement.

Because he was _nothing_ if not devotedly loyal to Niall Brigant – even when he did not necessarily want to be.

His sister Meridian had chastised him more than once for remaining in the Prince's employ during the Faery War. She was none too quiet behind closed doors in her exclamations. She ardently believed that he should betray Niall, and feed the Prince's many secrets to the rebel cause – help to take down the incumbent regime from the inside. Darick was not quite so invested in the Purist cause, or in the know, to take such extreme action. He shrugged off the sentiment, knowing that his sister had her own motivations for pushing him to accept Breandan and his machinations. Namely, because she had begun a torrid affair with the handsome rebel shortly after the beginnings of the uprising. Love, whether true or lustful, had blinded her to the Purist leader's numerous atrocities against the Faery race.

But Darick remained _steadfast_ in his fidelities and allegiance to his sister – even when he did not necessarily want to be.

He loved his sister, unconditionally and unfathomably, but she tested his meddle – smarter than him, but stupidly ignorant to her misalignments. He found himself with loyalties on both sides of the war, and it plagued him – almost to the point of exhaustion. While the Prince noted his distant temperament and adjusted accordingly, his sister almost intentionally made things more difficult.

But without one word of protest or anger, he suffered her emotional shifts and outbursts all the same. His mind pulled out a memory, reminded him of a moment almost fifteen years old as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other. His extremities had become sore and sleepy from his motionless position next to the still empty throne.

It had already been a long day, and he imagined it was only going to get longer.

* * *

 _"Surely there's_ something _you can tell me!" With desperation laced in her tone, Meridian had pressed him on one particularly memorable occasion, before the war had met its end, "_ Something _that would cause Prince Brigant to crumble and break."_

 _There was, but Darick simply shook his head 'no' in response to his sister's pleadings. He pursed his lips in a tight line while donning an apologetic affection, and she had none of it._

 _"UGH! I vouched for you, brother! I told Breandan you were trustworthy, and on our side, yet you pull this… this SHIT!"_

 _She cried out throwing her hands into the air before stomping away from him._

 _Despite his prominent position in the Faery court – or perhaps because of it – Darick had been welcomed by Breandan with open arms into his inner circle. Not once did the charming dissident press the faery guard for intel or implore him to leave Niall's side – but his sister surely did, often and without reprieve. Darick understood inherently that she was simply Breandan's sweet-faced mouthpiece, controlled subversively with a dark purpose in mind. Over time, Darick imagined Breandan's patience grew short as his sister's had done the same._

 _The night in question had only been minorly different, Darick realized as his sister bounded back into the room with her long red hair bouncing as if with purpose and hands fisted at her sides._

 _"Do_ NOT _make a fool of me!" Meridian spat out through gritted teeth, "You traveled to the Human Realm with the old codger, and_ often _. Do_ NOT _tell me you learned nothing! You_ know _his secrets! You DO! Tell me_ ONE _! SHOW ME YOU LOVE ME!"_

 _She had unceremoniously demanded, on this occasion and this occasion alone, asking for tangible and undeniable proof of his affections. He flinched as her harsh words assaulted his ears, none of his discomfort betrayed by his placid expression. As a veritable slave to his devotions, Darick had felt compelled to oblige her request. Because despite his silence and dismissive shakes of his head, he_ had _been privy to one of the Prince's most closely-held secrets._

 _Well, actually two –_ both _of which could be exploited to acquiesce to his sister's passionate appeal._

 _But on the other hand, Darick could not. A sinking feeling bloomed in his stomach at even the thought, betray Prince Brigant – turn his back on the faery he guarded with his life. So while internally planning to undercut the reigning royalty's own machinations, he had found that silence was all he could offer his sister in this moment. But Darick had hoped, fervently and without measure, that his intended tithing would pave his way into her heart and repair the rift cut between them._

 _Meridian had been none too impressed at his stillness, clucking her tongue in an exasperated fashion before turning on her heel to amble out of the room again._

 _But as it turned out, Darick had the eyes, but not the stomach to satisfy his sister's entreaty that he prove his love for her._

 _Thundering through one of the Prince's hidden portals, secreted away still to this day, Darick had found himself in the Human Realm searching for a halfling child he knew his regent had ferreted away. Unable to call upon faery magics, suspecting the cluviel dor's wish impeded such an ability, Darick had relied on his tracking abilities, and what little he knew about the girl – which in reality was not much._

 _But it had been a successful endeavor all the same as happenstance placed him squarely in the path of the young fledging as she stumbled on chubby, three-year-old legs towards an unknown goal._

 _As always, Darick had all the dumb luck in the world._

 _He had scooped her into his arms almost instantly, hoping to relegate her back to the Realm – to her doom – without pretense or struggle. He wanted to satisfy his sister's request quickly, and get it over with. But then the young child wailed out, startling and shaking his resolve. Darick had not felt touched by her plight or softened towards her. No, he had been scared out of his ever-loving mind._ What _was he doing? – He queried to himself. Darick wracked his brains to remember why he had thought he had the nerve, or the stomach, to drag a young, and unassuming child back to the Faery Realm – to an inevitable slaughter._

 _He could not do it, not even for his sister, so he took the toddler back to her home instead._

 _On his return, Meridian had neither questioned his whereabouts nor implored him again to draw a veritable line in the sand and choose a side. Darick wondered if perhaps it was because she was afraid she would not like the one he would picked if she continued to force the issue._

 _In truth, he thought her fears were a little premature – because he still had not decided._

* * *

Darick continued to shift from foot to foot as he thought about _the girl_ , and the one, short-lived interaction they shared when she was three. Snapping back to reality, he stood at attention again. His soggy, sweat-laced head was worse for the wear, but otherwise he looked indifferent and well-kempt.

Or at least, he hoped so.

He could not say whether or not he enjoyed his position at Breandan's side, or throne. He was nervous to be stationed rank in the Faery Court, the one-lasting fixture of the old regime. While most of Prince Brigant's militia had been disposed of, culled for fighting against the Purist uprising, Darick had been spared. _Perhaps_ , he had been shielded from a brutal death because of Meridian and the small sway she held over Breandan's heart. But Darick suspected his services had been retained due to Breandan's false belief that the faery guard knew far more than he let on.

Darick knew his silence was seen as _telling_ , but mostly he just felt more comfortable keeping his mouth closed than opening it.

He had watched Breandan decapitate his Prince over ten years ago, once again holding his tongue when asked – albeit indirectly – to stand up for his loyalties. Instead, he had sworn fealty to his sister's lover with his fingers crossed behind his back. He could not afford to spread himself any thinner, still torn between the ever-lingering fidelity he felt towards the fallen monarch and the unconditional love he held for his sister. In short, Breandan had purchased no real estate in his heart or mind because all the available space had already been spoken for. Darick lived in constant fear that one day Breandan would wise up to it, and kill him – like the other guards for their disloyalties – as well.

Today was no different – except that in one way, it was.

"FIND IT! FIND THE HALFLING NOW!"

Breandan screeched at an almost preternatural volume as the bolted into the room, his scrying crystal in one hand with a world map of the Human Realm in the other.

The rock had twice buzzed and spun momentarily, indicating the appearance of a very powerful faery spark, only to fall limp just as swiftly. But Breandan had gleaned the meaning of the movements all the same – somewhere in the other world, there was a halfling newborn cloaked by magics; what else could the glimmer have been? But location still undiscerned, Breandan thought he knew the _how_ behind crystal's sudden, but short flash into animated life. There was only one faery still living on the human plane – Fintan, his expatriate cousin. Breandan cursed himself inwardly for allowing his emotions to rule the decision to let his pseudo-brother to live free despite standing on the wrong side of the Faery War.

It was a mistake he vowed he would not make again – giving his heart rule of his head.

Darick stiffened, tamping down his anxiety-filled movements, and stared forward as the new ruler of the Faery Realm ascended his throne. He looked around, eyes flitting about while his head stayed still, trying to ascertain exactly who had been charged to hunt down said halfling. But he hoped, sending an unspoken prayer to his Gods, it was _not_ him – and in short work, they granted his request.

Darick's eyes spotted Lochlan and Neave, the former hot on the heels of the latter as they ambled into the room, extreme delight overtaking both of their countenances.

"Open the portals, open the portals."

The two chanted in unison, glee rife in their shared tone as they jumped up and down like children boosted by a sugar high. Darick stifled the urge to roll his eyes, understanding inherently such actions would be interpreted as disobedience – treachery. Breandan steepled his fingers as he slumped down further into the throne, dropping both the inert crystal and now equally worthless map abruptly to the ground with an air of disappointment.

"Fine! Have at ya."

Breandan exclaimed.

With a sweep of his hand, he opened every known portal between the Faery and Human Realm as if it was of no consequence. In that brief moment, Darick could not help but think on all the unknown ones, or _the girl_ hidden behind them. Lochlan and Neave disappeared almost instantly, crazed with bloodlust; but Darick made no moves, not even to blink. He did not want to appear to be interested, or in the know.

Because, for the second time ever, he _was_ – and it made him infinitely uncomfortable.

Darick knew Fintan was the only faery in the human realm, having shepherded him there himself. He also knew Fintan had been hiding a family, a non-magical one. While Darick supposed it was possible another halfling had been inauspiciously born to Fintan's mortal son, he worried instead for _the girl_. The one he had left to her life all those many years ago. The one Darick had tracked across the state when she moved, still not knowing how he felt about her. The one who now spent her evenings in the company of a strangely protective vampire. The one he suspected was probably going to experience a brutal death tonight at the hands of Lochlan and Neave.

He did not exactly know how he felt about it, a mix of emotions swirling within him.

In truth, Darick believed her death would appease the Gods, and restore health to the Faery Realm. But on the other hand, he also knew Prince Brigant had desperately wanted her alive – although he was immeasurably glad that he had no idea why. Nonplussed by curiosity, Darick enjoyed being blissfully ignorant and unaware. But in this, he was not. Darick sucked in a sharp breath as he accepted he could no longer embrace the stalemate, allow his loyalties to remain at an impasse. He had been torn between his devotions to Prince Brigant and his love for Meridian, but it was inescapably time to draw a line in the sand...

BAM!

A sharp pain in his leg drew his attentions back to his world, and its demanding dictator.

"Darick!" Breandan barked as he kicked the spaced-out guard, "Pay attention! I _SAID_ , let Lochlan and Neave track down the baby. _You_ bring me back my traitorous cousin, Fintan… NOW!"

"Yes, my liege."

Darick agreed with feigned deference rife in his tone, already planning to deviate from his bidden task.

He swept into a low bow before he popped from the room, leaving Breandan to his grumblings about family and blood.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Knowing all too well where his target resided, Darick popped outside the little farmhouse on Hummingbird Lane after ensuring _the girl_ had not only met her demise, but also found her second life. He had been surprised, not pleasantly, to see the vampire had side-stepped his own final death. He had hoped to kill two birds with one stone. But all-in-all, Darick considered his machinations a success.

It was not the perfect result, or his intended outcome, but it worked all the same.

The star-filled night reminded him of the last time he had graced the Louisiana state. It was much the same he supposed – all of it because of _the girl_. Albeit, this time he was with a different Brigant, and had a different, darker purpose in mind, it _was_ still very much the same. As they had before, the crickets' soft, but shrill serenades practically canopied the field in front of the house. The irritating insects seemed insistent on playing an unsolicited accompaniment to the unfolding scene.

It made Darick uncomfortable, a familiar feeling for him.

"Fintan?"

Darick asked gingerly, as he hesitantly approached the royal son of his Prince.

" _Of course_ , he noticed the power surge…"

Fintan responded, from his position on the porch swing chair, never pulling his head up from his cupped hands.

He imagined it was fitting, to die on the same day as his precious granddaughter – who he had traded his infinite years for. Overwrought by guilt and regret, he could not even bring himself to care, desperate only to apologize to Adele before succumbing to a fate deserved for his folly. It was time; time to atone for his sins against his family. He was powerless to resist – his cousin's ministrations, or his Gods' furies. His comeuppance stood manifested in the form of the turncoat, the dissident who had betrayed his father and partnered with the Purist scum.

"I have been charged to bring you back to the Realm, so you can stand trial for your crimes against the kingdom and its ideologies. Treason… your cousin said."

Darick announced, taking another step towards the farmhouse porch.

A long pause stood between them, filling the foggy space like a billowing smoke. The silence became palpable as even the crickets ceased their incessant din. Several minutes passed before Fintan spoke, his quiet words slicing like a knife through the thick night air.

"You know, you all _finally_ got what you wanted. What does it matter now? Why can you not just leave me alone? She is dead, you Purist piece of shit! Dead!"

Fintan sobbed out in a shaky whisper-yell, raising to his feet while still obscuring his tear-stained face.

There were many words that bubbled into Darick's throat, comforting things he could not bear to say aloud or offer in response. Instead, he plucked out a small string of words, hoping their meaning could be gleaned without further explanation. Darick knew, in some sense, he had chosen a side, but he was not quite ready to wear it as a veritable pin fastened to his armored chest. He closed the small space between them, ascending the few porch stairs and placed a consoling hand on the shoulder of a very surprised Fintan.

With a slow tempo, and a telling tone, Darick whispered back to the grieving faery.

"But just because she is dead does not mean she is _gone."_

Darick spied a small smile tug at Fintan's lips as he shackled him for transport back to the Faery Realm, and it caused his heart to clench. The faery soldier regretted bringing him such momentary happiness. Not because it had not been Darick's aim – to alleviate Fintan's sorrow – but because once the two of them returned to the Realm, he imagined he would never see Fintan's smile again.


	8. Awake My Soul – Mumford & Sons

_A/N: So WOW. Two things, over 140 reviews? Eepers! And over 110 followers? Scary! I've never had a response this large or an audience so big this early on in a story. I love it, but it's overwhelming. Should I be this honest? Maybe, maybe not. But I am grateful, more than words could express, so there's that. You. Guys. Rock._

 _Thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

* * *

 **oXOxoXOxo From Chapter 5 oXOxoXOxo**

* * *

… Eric was alone, bloody tears streaming down his face in tracks. He clutched at his head, still screaming as if he was being attacked by an invisible force. As I gazed upon him, I sobered instantly.

' _What is happening?_ ' I thought, my face betraying my confusion.

"Addy..." He sputtered out through gritted teeth, trying to bite back his pain, "She... is... in... trouble."

Little did I know, truer words had never been spoken.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

I discovered much later, and to my chagrin, that my son had not misled me.

I had not even paused a moment to let him plead his case, to explain what had transpired, silencing him with an ill-timed maker's command. I had not listened to him, I had forced him to betray her, and for that they both had suffered.

It was a mistake I had all intents to learn from.

Because perhaps, if I had accepted my shortcomings sooner, seen my own errors more clearly, and adjusted my approach accordingly, I would still have my newest progeny by my side today.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Eric continued to howl and wail through gritted teeth as I stood helpless before him.

Sunset was still over an hour away, which essentially handcuffed us to Eric's safe house – impeding any ability to save Sookie, thereby rescuing them both. I did not know how to shield him from her pain, or how to sever the unnaturally tight tie between them. In over two thousand years of existence, I had never felt so impotent, so enfeebled. I stifled the urge to breakdown myself, as a depressing realization washed over me. It took everything within my power to block my weighty sadness from bounding over our maker-child bond. My child's ear-piercing screams signaled a torture I feared he would never survive, which meant in all likelihood I was not only going to lose Sookie to death on this day, but Eric as well.

My mind scrambled to understand.

When I had left Sookie, she had been sleeping in a hospital bed, her heart monitor beeping in a rhythmic succession. The surgery performed to mend her internal bleeds had been successful, gone off without a hitch, as she would have said. Sookie's condition had been marked stable, and not critical. But now, not so many hours later, the opposite was true.

Somehow, _somewhere_ she was fighting for her life.

Because our small tie told me she was distanced much further from us than she had been when I left her. She had traveled during the day, and possibly over state lines, which meant she had snuck out of the hospital. It was the only possible conclusion to draw because _Kim_ had marked quite clearly on Sookie's chart that she would be under observation for another day or so. They would have never released her, let her go willingly. The surgery had been quite an invasive procedure, and hospital policy was to monitor inpatients for at least forty-eight hours after any surgery, just in case complications arose.

I caged the fury threatening to overwhelm my sadness.

I was angry Sookie would choose to be so reckless, harbor such disregard for her own life by denying herself medical attentions in her most pressing time of need. But I also chided myself for my short swell of irritation. Eric had told me that she begged him not to take her to the hospital, and I imagined she had awoken frightened and disoriented. Surely, she had fled without understanding the ramifications of her actions. Worse yet, her decision had proven to be a poor one, and the thought of losing her scared me almost more than anything else.

Almost.

"Fad-er…" Eric stammered out, biting his tongue so hard fresh blood spilled from the corners of his lips, " _Help_ … me…"

He began to gasp for breaths he did not need. Then his face screwed into an uneasy scowl as blood continued to slip past his chapped lips. He grabbed his head in his hands and let out an ear-piercing shriek before slumping to the floor, as if he had passed out.

There was only one thing I could think to do – I placed a call.

* * *

Seconds after we hung up, Doctor Ludwig, the renowned supernatural physician, popped into Eric's house. She ambled into his room, carpet-bag in hand. Spotting his crumpled form, she moved to his side, not a word passing between us, and began her ministrations. As he regained consciousness, I wiped bloody tears from my eyes, struggling to recover from my momentary scare. I found myself quickly distracted as the doctor rattled off probing questions like a Gatling gun. Eric faltered a bit in answering, pain still radiating through his form, but he managed all the same.

She seemed unimpressed, or at least incredulous.

"You're saying you fed your blood to a fairy, _without_ drinking from her?"

The little elvish doctor said, peering skeptically at a grimacing Eric from behind her spectacled eyes.

"Part fairy," I corrected her, answering in place of my child whose gritted teeth obfuscated his ability to respond easily. Eric's pain, which was seemingly Sookie's pain, terrified me to no end, and I was impatient to save him – and then get to her once the sun set, "Yes, he gave his future sister blood… yesterday, and only _once_ , but still somehow they are tied so tight…"

I repeated Eric's previous utterance, letting the words trail off – hang almost corporeally in the air.

I did not know what else to say.

"I doubt that very much…" she said in her gravelly tone after several seconds had passed – too many, in my opinion.

I interrupted the little doctor dressed in robin blue hospital scrubs, "Quit wasting time on trivialities! Fix him!"

Anxieties gripped me tight, impeding any semblance of patience I usually held, or practiced. I hoped, beyond hope, that Sookie's plight was not deadly _or worse_ – I could not stand to lose her. But the sun had not set, and I could not even go outside, let alone to her side. So I had eyes alone to deal with the problem at hand – the one I could at least _attempt_ to solve. Small digestible chunks, it was how I was surviving this tragic situation.

"There's nothing I can do…"

Ludwig responded, and my undead heart clenched – a feat I had previously thought impossible.

I did not like the feeling; I did not like it one bit.

"Then what use are you!?"

I growled back, letting anger stand in place of my sorrow, instantly in Ludwig's face.

"Calm down, _vampire_!" she shot back, and I knew I had rankled her since she was known to be slow to sling around disrespectful monikers, "You ever let anyone finish a sentence around here?!"

I could not say why, but her insult cut inexplicably deep, and effectively silenced me.

So the little doctor continued, despite the fact I had not stepped back from her, or retracted my fangs.

"As I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted TWICE, _vampire._ " She paused, narrowing her eyes at me until I snicked my fangs back in, "I _doubt_ the issue is caused by _his_ blood. I suspect it's caused by _hers_."

WHAT?!

"YOU DRANK FROM HER?!"

I screamed at my son, the paintings on the walls shaking from the force of my yell.

The shame that instantly bounded across our maker-child bond in droves told me everything I needed to know. I was as mad at myself as I was him. I had not even considered checking Sookie for fang marks or bites when I found her unconscious in my son's arms. Instead, I had made assumptions; I believed my maker's command that Eric protect Sookie as he would me would have prohibited him from such things.

"Did you bite her!?" I roared, "As your maker, I command you to answer me!"

"YES!" Eric howled back in his native tongue, disdain dripped languidly in his tone, " _She_ asked me to! She was _dying_! I did what _you_ would have wanted!"

My brow furrowed as I struggled to internalize his words.

Sookie had asked him to bite her? Eric could not lie under a maker's command so it had to be true, but at the time, I ignored the most logical inference – that she knew we were vampires – all the same. Instead, I let guilt overwhelm me, drown my sensibilities. Eric had taken the blame for his predicament and thrown it squarely at my feet – where it apparently belonged. He had only ever shown contempt for Sookie, balked at the very mention of her name. Of course he would _not_ have been trying to turn her for himself, or wanted to be tied to her by blood. Everything he had done had been for me, and now he was suffering because of it.

I did not like it; I did not like it one bit.

I pressed at the dwarfish doctor, my anger turning once again to sorrow.

"Surely, there is _something_ you can do to help him, to lessen the bond between them."

"I _already_ told you," She crossed her arms at her chest, seemingly exasperated with me, "There's nothing I can do for him. And before you go flapping your gums at me," I closed my opened mouth, stilling the arguments poised on the tip of my tongue, "you know it's not a bond causing this; bonds don't behave like this, or pop up after just one exchange."

It was true; blood bonds demanded three exchanges. But perhaps Sookie's fairy blood made it different, contained different magics. They were tied _so_ tight; there had to be a reason why.

"It _has_ to be a bond," I implored her, despite my own uncertainties, "what else could it be?"

Dr. Ludwig sighed, looking down, and pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing her black-rimmed glasses up to her forehead. They slipped back into place as she dropped her hand and raised her head.

"I can't say for certain, Godric… not without testing the girl," Fear tendrilled like snakes through me as Doctor Ludwig adopted a more cautious and comforting tone, her countenance awash with unrestrained pity, "but I believe that your part-fairy friend… is of royal blood."

She eyed me carefully as her words settled in, and I could tell she hoped I would glean her meaning without further exposition.

I did.

"The Fairy Blight… I believed it to be a rumor…"

I whispered, almost to myself.

"Yes, the Fairy Blight…" Ludwig confirmed, "It is true that Fae borne in the royal line have different, more powerful blood laced with magics not afforded to other fairies. If your fairy girl is indeed Fae royalty, as I suspect she is, her blood protects her, temporarily binds her _tightly_ to any vampire who drinks from her to incentivize them to stop or risk dying, alongside her. I believe that it is the source of your child's unexplainable pain. The good news is her blood should work itself out of his system in another couple hours or so. It will be gone even faster if you supplement his blood intake with some of your own, and have his progeny do the same."

I had no words; I felt foolish.

It made so much sense. I had wondered why the fairy people had left one of their own defenseless in the Human Realm, hidden amongst their mortal enemies. I had assumed it had been an oversight, a strategic blunder – almost as if they had wanted her to die at the hands of a hungry vampire. But, I was wrong. Sookie had not been abandoned to the world with no protections against my kind; her _blood_ was all the armor she needed.

The greatest of weapons against us, save stakes or sunlight.

"You'll have my bill by Saturday," Dr. Ludwig said, readopting her business-like tone, "Oh, and when you try to turn your future child," she quirked a discerning eyebrow, "spit out her blood, don't swallow it. You and I both know the blood exchange isn't necessary, just useful, and although you may lose something in your maker-child connection, turning her won't kill you that way."

"Will it take then? Can a royal fairy even be turned?"

I had to know, not caring if it would anger the kin who had abandoned her.

Ludwig shrugged, "We won't know until you try. There's nothing on the books to suggest it's ever been done before. You'll let me know either way? I'd like to document your results for the sake of posterity."

I nodded my agreement.

 _Pop._

With that, she was gone.

I was by my son's side in less than seconds.

"Drink," I directed him, as I pressed my wrist to his lips, "Drink. Ludwig said it will help you to overcome this," I hesitated to go into further detail, "Pam will need to do the same for you when she wakes."

His fangs sank into my wrist without hesitation, and his hands reached up to grab it closer, although there was no need. He pulled at the wound, sucking hard. After three or four deep drags, he snicked his fangs back in, watching my skin knit itself back as if he had not seen the same thing a thousand times before. His anguish-ridden expression had lessened, but I could see that pain still clearly had him gripped tight. I hoped his child Pam would wake soon. He needed more blood, but I hesitated to offer it.

Just in case.

I reached out mentally to stroke my small tie with Sookie, to find out for myself if she was not as ill-fated as Eric's own plight had suggested. It was quiet, purring with a gentle hum that I _hoped_ beyond hope meant she was okay even though she was far, far away. But I _needed_ to lay eyes on her, to ease my inexplicable worries that she was decidedly not okay despite all evidence to the contrary.

I imagined I would be practically crawling the walls from worry until the sun set.

"Addy… I cannot feel her," Eric slurred slightly in his native tongue, bloody tears repainting his stained face, "Fader, I cannot feel her."

"Shhh… I can, I can," I comforted him, drawing him into my arms in an awkward embrace. Perhaps my time with Sookie had changed me more than I had even realized, "She is okay; _you_ will be okay."

Unfortunately, only one of my assurances turned out to be true.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

At night's break I took to the skies, leaving Eric in the care of his progeny, Pam.

Just as Doctor Ludwig had promised, his child's blood overrode the final remnants of the Fairy Blight within my son, freeing him from his future sister's hold. Seeing him well eased my worries, but flooded my mind with thoughts I had pushed to the side – like that Sookie had asked him to bite her. It could only mean one thing, the truth of his words indisputable.

She knew we were vampires, she _knew_ and she did not care.

I honestly could not say whether I felt more shocked or relieved by the revelation. I had been fooling humans for thousands of years, walking alongside them without notice. It had been necessary for survival, to keep myself and eventually my son safe. During my first years as vampire, my maker had allowed me to make a nearly fatal mistake – to learn for myself the folly in exposing my monstrous nature. It had been an eye-opening lesson, one that had informed my actions for thousands of years…

One I unceremoniously ignored when I befriended my future child.

I was not sure why I thought I had fooled her; my friend was neither unobservant nor dim. But I had known Sookie for almost four years, and my strange behavior had gone undiscussed, unquestioned. In all that time, Sookie had never commented on the coolness of my skin or my inability to be out during the day. She merely accepted those things, turned a blind eye to them. It was as if she had purposely avoided those subjects entirely. In fact, as I mentally flipped through years' worth of memories, she had never asked me to join her any time but at night. Her concerns about the Europe trip revolved around how I could join her, not why I had offered... I could have kicked myself.

Of course, she had known!

I was pleased; this was good news. I had made no plans, drafted no stratagems to broach the subject of her future turning, afraid of how she would react to the prospect. But she had accepted my true nature, and had even asked my child to make her a vampire. Juxtaposed against the earlier tragedies of the day, the 'low' lows, I was experiencing a 'high' high – as Sookie would have said. The smile that engulfed my countenance was insuppressible, despite my many anxieties. I had not been happier since Eric, bleeding out after a ferocious battle, had agreed to follow me into the night over a thousand years prior.

Although I hoped the events of the night would not follow the same course.

I was wrong about many things that day.

I flew through the air with a wide grin on my face, blurring at a fast and frenzied pace. The wind tugged at my linen clothes and whipped past me, dancing against my chilly skin. I enjoyed the sensation in a way I had not in hundreds of years. I was more careful than I had been on my flight to Louisiana, avoiding unnecessary risks, but I still maintained an unparalleled speed. The tie that connected me to Sookie was unchanged, but I refused to accept she would be sleeping so early in the day, simply taking a nap. It just did not track with what I knew of the past twenty-four hours.

Plus, my fairy friend was odd, but not quite _that_ odd.

I landed just outside of Dallas proper in an open field off Mockingbird Lane. Without delay, I honed in on my small blood tie to Sookie, grateful that proximity increased my abilities to zero in on her location. Under the cover of darkness, I zipped towards the pulsing beacon, concern filling me to the brim. Now that I was closer, much closer to her, it was clear to me that the hum I had previously felt was actually her heartbeat – and it was slowing. I could not understand how everything had gone south so quickly, but I did not allow myself to waste precious energies on such trivialities.

Details were insignificant, saving my friend was everything.

As I neared White Rock Lake, I knew I was getting closer to Sookie – that she was within less than a hundred yards. I slowed from a vamp to a run, as I came out of the shadows, consciously donning the same affectations as the humans ambling about the trail. But I was on a course to reach her, to find my friend and battle whatever force had taken hold of her and to turn her – if need be. Armed with relieving information, I now knew that she had asked Eric to bite her, had accepted the gift of immortality – before I had interrupted them. She had been willing to become a vampire, to join the night, and I could not imagine anything had changed between then and now. Which was ironic because I had changed – believing not twenty-four hours prior that seventeen was far too young, and now exactly the opposite.

As I said before, I was wrong about many things that day.

Moving at a maddeningly human clip, I bounded down the cement path in Sookie's direction. I paid little attention to those who biked past me, barely hearing their courtesy yells of "on the left!" I was so out of sorts, as was often the case when it came to my future progeny. So much so, I did not notice the strange looking man with the blackening eye planted squarely in my path until he inexplicably knocked me down. The sensation of hitting the ground roused me from my heavy thoughts, and I tamped down the desire to rip his head from his body.

I did not have time for violence, or clean-ups; I needed to get to Sookie.

" _You_ should've been here _sooner_."

The oddly dressed man uttered in a disrespectful and chiding tone, as he thrust a dirty hand out towards me.

The pungent, garlic-like odor lifting off his offered extremity assaulted my senses, burning my nostrils in an unfamiliar way. I did not respond to his strange accusation or accept his aid. I was unwilling to allow him to transfer his stench onto my skin. So I launched to my feet and growled lowly as I brushed past him unable to stifle my growing irritations. I took care not to touch him or his cloth and metal garb.

Truly, human fashions had baffled me more and more as the centuries had ticked by.

I shrugged off the odd exchange quickly. His words seemed to be the ramblings of someone not quite right in the head, and I had no time to entertain them. I had many more important endeavors to concern myself with – like Sookie, and the weakening thump-thump of her heart thrumming lightly against our small tie.

She was not well, and I was not quite ready to say goodbye.

* * *

When I happened upon Sookie, she was stilled and surprisingly corpse-like, an undeniably serene expression painting her bruised countenance. The acrid stench of death hung about her, kissing her skin and hugging her clothes. I knelt by her side, ghosting my fingers over the newest injuries she had acquired during the last twelve hours. Her skin was bespeckled with damages, including finger bruises on her cheeks and barely there pink marks in the crook of her neck – where my son must have drank from her.

Those were hard to look at.

I hated myself for having failed her, for believing, even if just momentarily, that the gentle hum in our tie meant she was okay when she was obviously not. Obviously, someone or something had attacked her; for all I knew it was the homeless-looking man who had knocked me down. I could not say for sure, but I decided then and there I would not push her or force her to relieve whatever tragic events had led her to be here, dying by the edge of the lake where we first met. But I hoped she would tell me in time. I could wait; as an immortal, all I had as time.

And after tonight, she would have an eternity's worth of it, too.

Sookie's skin was cold, and her breath labored. I brushed the back of my hand against her cheek, and she stirred slightly, but she did not wake. I spied an empty pill bottle within arm's reach. Curling it into my palm, I noted it was empty, and had been sized to hold a fair amount of human medicine, more than a handful of doses.

It did not make sense to me at the time, so I did not dwell on it.

I lifted her into my lap, draping her head over my shoulder. My fangs snicked down, and I prepared to bite. I understood inherently the act of her turning – bring her closer to the brink of death so the magics of my blood would take hold – could afflict me with the Fairy Blight. That poisoning could tie us tight, force me to die alongside her – if I was not careful. And I would not have been vigilant or cautious, if not for Doctor Ludwig's revelation. But now I knew better, and how to avoid such a catastrophe. But even if I accidentally ingested some of her sweet elixir despite my efforts, I had already decided the effects would be worth it – because _she_ was worth it.

Laboriously and slowly, I took deep pulls, divesting her body of it blood and spitting each mouthful into the grass beside us. As her breath began to hitch and her body started to convulse, I laid her back in my arms, cradling her like a human infant – precious. I gnashed a hole into my wrist and pressed it to her lips, to fill her with my elixir of second life, my blood. It flowed into her with ease, her throat reflexively swallowing, accepting my gift. We went through this process, my open wound healing every couple of minutes, until it was time to stop and let nature take its course.

I placed a chaste kiss to her forehead and took to the skies with her bridal-style in my arms, heading towards the Dallas Arboretum.

She would need to be buried for three days, and I wanted her to be surrounded by beautiful things, like her. After digging a hole in one of the flower beds behind a rope chain, I carefully laid her down in it, and curled myself around her. With one arm I held her, while the other brushed dirt over us. Once covered, I began to gasp and writhe, almost uncontrollably. Because I had no cause to breathe, the coughing fit that overtook me surprised me, but I chalked it up to the Fairy Blight. I was not able to succumb to the pull of the sun, submit to my day death until after the next night, writhing in pain. But even as I struggled through my small agonies, I smiled – because I finally had my newest child by my side, joining me in the night.

How could I be upset? She _was_ worth it.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Before Sookie's eyes began to flutter open for her first night rising as vampire, I sat anxiously beside her, admiring my newest progeny and waiting patiently to shepherd her into her new life. I trusted she _would_ wake, that the magics would take hold. There were no doubts in my mind, and I had not even bothered to prepare for the worst.

Luckily, as it turned out, I had not needed to.

The sun had been set for over an hour, during which time I had unearthed her, brought her back to the nest. Accepting, if not also understanding, my desire to preserve Sookie's modesty, Sabine ushered me from my room to clean the dirt from my child's skin. Dressing her in one of my tunics, its length to her knees, Sabine tossed Sookie's bloodied clothes into the hearth, burning them into ash. Both of us had agreed it was unlikely Sookie would want to keep them. During Sabine's ministrations, I microwaved several bags of donated blood, which I now held gingerly in my lap. I knew without a doubt she would need them all, and require more blood than myself during her baby vamp years.

If she did not satiate her thirst, the consequences could be dire.

Young vampires, especially right after turning, were especially prone to fits of bloodlust, to their beast overtaking their sensibilities and also any lingering inhibitions they may have held while human. In fact, it was the reason I had chosen to feed my progeny bagged blood. Many fledglings exsanguinated their first meal, drank them dry. I expected Sookie, despite her fairy nature, would be no exception. In fact, I had mentally prepared myself to suffer the brunt of her shock, and hunger, which could turn into bloodlust on a pin if not sated quickly. So when her cerulean orbs met mine, I was neither surprised, nor taken aback by her utterance, or her veiled accusation.

She launched herself to her feet and off the bed, experiencing the first of her acquired vampiric powers – preternatural speed. Instantly, she was across the room, her back pressed against the wall, her hands searching her form – from stomach upwards, stopping at her descended fangs.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!?"

She roared, blurring in front of me to poke me squarely in the chest. Anger was a predicted outcome of her discovery she was now vampire, but also as a passenger to her hunger. So I overlooked her disrespectful display. But she would need to learn the new dynamics in our relationship, defer to me in all measures as her elder, her maker – her protector.

I only had her best interests at heart.

"Drink," I replied, handing her a warmed bag of blood, "You are famished, and require sustenance."

She looked from me to the blood and back to me. I could not identify her expression, but was pleased as she snatched the blood from my hands and whizzed back across the room. She tore into the bag with a fervor that suggested her hunger, as I suspected, was in fact overwhelming her sensibilities, her emotions. I could see she was ravenous, but I could not feel it, a blessing and a curse in itself.

As she gulped down the final contents of the bag gripped tightly in her hands, I held out the second to her. Again, she looked from the blood to me and back to the blood. I did not understand why she hesitated to grab it. I desperately wished I knew what she was thinking.

"I'm just thinking I shouldn't..."

She cut herself off, her face becoming impassive as my countenance became quite expressive. I could not help but wonder if our tie was not quite so silent for her, if she had indeed felt my curiosity and responded in kind. Newborns felt everything so acutely, so severely. _Of course_ , if our tie existed at all, she would notice it first. Perhaps my side of the bond would simply grow into place in time.

A dark cloud lifted from my mind.

This was good news!

"Of course, you should, and it is normal, Sookie," I explained with a small grin tugging at my lips, "for you to feel what may seem like foreign emotions within you. It is part of the magics that bind a maker and his child together, link us. Our connection may be even stronger once Eric's blood inside you has run its course."

I hesitated to explain, but soldiered on all the same.

"He… tried to turn you in New Orleans…" I faltered, "but I stopped him. You were not so far gone you could not be healed. So I made him take you to the hospital instead. I had no idea you had accepted him, accepted our nature..."

It appeared momentarily that my response was unsatisfactory to her as she furrowed her brow, placing her hand to head and closing her eyes for several seconds. It would take her quite some time to finally shuck off her human mannerisms.

She vamped back across the room, and snatched the second bag from my hands, offering me a fresh scowl as she did so. I was hurt, and irritated that she would not even deign to speak to me. But I told myself that her overwhelming hunger most likely still pained her, and like her earlier offense, I let this one pass as well. Now was not the time for hard lessons, while she was still growing accustomed to her new skin, so to speak – discovering her new powers. Eric had gone through a similar transition when he became vampire. Although he had more loudly vocalized his confusion, and displeasure – attacking me, forcing me to restrain him by way of a maker's command. Sookie was quiet since her first outburst, almost contemplative.

Perhaps fairies were more adaptable by nature.

"Sookie, _drink_. You need the blood to help clear your head. You must pay particularly close attention while I explain the particulars of vampire society, the rules for your new life. It is imperative you understand how to act, and behave – crucial to your survival."

I said as Sookie stood not so far from me, gaping with the unpunctured bag in hand.

She snapped her mouth shut at the end of my speech, cutting her lip with her fangs in the process. Her hand swept upwards and she touched at the wound. It closed under her fingertips. Her expression begged a question she did not ask before she plunged her fangs into the bag, greedily sucking at the probably now lukewarm contents.

While I was pleased my new child had already managed to reign in her emotions, I was despondent I could not feel them. It was as if there was no connection between us at all. Although I imagined she had felt me earlier, I began to worry, almost instantly, that I had deluded myself, fallen prey to wishful thinking. What if Doctor Ludwig was wrong, and I had lost much more than a simple blood tie by spitting out Sookie's blood? What if there were _no_ magics between us? It could mean she would be impossible to control, resistant or possibly impervious to my directives.

And then I would lose her – forever.

Vampires immune to a maker's command, a rarity for sure, were immediately culled, swiftly delivered the true death – with no regard for any protestations from the maker. Sookie _had_ been impossible to glamour, to hypnotize with my eyes – what if my audible commands also just fell on equally unresponsive ears? Having flustered myself, my face betraying not one whisper of my disquietude, I made the decision to silence my fears, issue my first command.

Sookie narrowed her eyes at me, almost expectantly, without dropping the bag or her ministrations. I practically chided myself for thinking there was nothing between us. But I had made my decision, and I was too headstrong, too stubborn to be swayed by an errant scowl, an angry expression. Out of nowhere, she threw the partially-filled container to the floor, letting the blood slosh at her feet, and stared at me, almost as if she was daring me to do it. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then her hands flew to her hips, gripping them with a force I would have thought would cause pain, but her impassive, almost irritatingly emotionless expression was unchanged. I appreciated her stoicism, it took most vampires hundreds of years to master such a feat, but it irked me all the same. So I chose to proceed, still undeterred by her actions.

One day, but not today, I would understand my friend's measures with clarity.

" _Sookie_ …"

I levied, as she overlapped my utterance with " _Ezra_ …" in a somewhat cautioning tone.

I did not heed her warning; I was her fader now, not the other way around.

"… as your maker, I command you never to harm yourself unnecessarily, or bring about your true death."

I would explain the concept of the 'true death' to her later.

I watched as her hands fell to her sides, the words forcing her compliance. She _had_ been injuring herself, a realization much to my chagrin, but I was uplifted to see there was some semblance of magic between us after all. Small mercies. But from her fresh scowl, I was also aware that I had created a rift between us by exposing the hierarchy in our relationship. Even without an overt display, or the ability to read her emotions, I could still tell she did not like it.

She did not like it one bit.

BAM!

The door swung open, hitting the wall hard as it broke the little stopper meant to stifle such happenings.

Sookie jumped back, and then vamped almost instinctively to my side. Any hint of displeasure dropped from her expression as it turned stony and unreadable. She was _already_ a great vampire, and unlike so many newborns on the first night they rose. While I still doubted the existence of a blood tie between us, I tried to push my approval and pride over to her. I hoped she understood her actions pleased me greatly and reflected well on her.

"Godric!"

The King of Texas boomed, as he leisurely ambled into the room.

I greeted him with a quick, deferential nod of my head.

"Hmmm…" Aaron hummed, as he inspected my child from top to bottom, in a way I did not appreciate in the slightest, "… is this your newest child? Miss Harding, I presume? She's quite a lovely thing there. C'mon now, sweetheart, give the two of us a twirl."

While his request sounded innocent enough, I opened my mouth to protest. But much to my surprise, and my chagrin, Sookie stepped out from her position at my side and spun in a slow circle. She did not scowl or grumble in the slightest. She simply complied with an air of submissiveness, as if being asked to display herself was the most natural thing in the world. I could not place a finger on the feeling it bloomed inside me; it was something I had never experienced during my two thousand years.

But it was not a contented sort of emotion.

"Yes, _exceptional_ ," King Jameson uttered with a low growl, "Godric, aren't you just the proud papa? _And_ you're just so damn lucky, too! Cattle there presuming she's dead and all, just another victim of some psycho they're calling _Berzerker_. Ber-fucking-zerker! Where do they come up with this shit?"

I held my tongue as the King unceremoniously broached the subject of Sookie's family, and their publicly tragic demise. I imagined Isabel had given him Sookie's name, since I had called both Eric and Isabel to leave messages during my sleepless day to explain my whereabouts. How else could he have known? I myself had only found out just after sunrise tonight, as I carried Sookie's stilled body into the nest. I hated for Sookie to find out this way. I had not yet told her the gruesome details, that someone had broken in her house and electrocuted her parents and sister to death – she had enough already to process for the night.

But Aaron's insensitivity was not all that bothered me, or nagged at my mind.

The hidden meaning in his words had not been lost on me. There was an unsettling threat in his tone, and I had not lived over two thousand years by ignoring such things. I had not planned to broach this subject at exactly _this_ moment. But, I _had_ previously voiced my decision to focus on my newest progeny's welfare, to resign my position as Sheriff at the time of her turning.

Plus, I was nothing if not adaptable.

* * *

The King groused a bit more than was preferable for someone in his position when I resigned mine. But I held firm to my resolve, conceding only to finish my business with the rogue vampire before retiring entirely. Sookie and I still had not discussed "what I had done to her," but while I was not avoiding the conversation, she seemed to be. For hours, she sat motionless on my bed, staring at the blank wall as if it was a beautiful mosaic demanding interpretation.

In fact, the last thing she had said at all had been my name.

Not a stranger to silence, I continued to let it hang in the air throughout the night. She drank several more bags of blood, eyeing me warily each time I handed her a new one. I thought on many things as we traversed her first night turned vampire so easily, _too_ easily. Except for the slight pinch on her face at times, she was altogether too calm, too placid. It was unnerving, instead of awe-inspiring. It was as if she had shut down, and I could not even feel her to confirm my suppositions.

She was usually so happy, so lively. Now that she was undead, it was like she was dead inside.

I was perturbed, to say the least.

"Sookie, what are you thinking? Are you okay?"

I asked, and she shook her head at me in response, shrugging me off impertinently. I had let two indignities pass earlier in the night, and I was not keen to allow a third. She needed to learn to lean on me, to allow me to take care of her – starting right now.

I told myself I had to do it, for her own good.

"As your maker, I command you to answer me!"

"NO, I'M NOT OKAY! HOW COULD YOU EVEN ASK ME THAT?!"

Eyes wide and fear-filled, Sookie began to knead her head in her hands. Although she could not hurt herself, controlled by the magics of my earlier command, I could plainly see she wanted to. I regretted my anger-laced words, and while I could not retract them, I could send her strength – or at least I could _try_. Not a minute later, she stilled her futile efforts and turned away from me again, to stare at the curvature of the wall. I could smell the bloody tears that poured out of her eyes in droves. But she made no moves to brush them away, or to face me as she further expounded in a crestfallen tone.

"I thought you were my friend, Ezra," She sniffled, even though vampire noses did not drip, "Stupid Addy. So freaking stupid. Thinking the vampire wasn't just _pretending_ to care about you. _OF COURSE_ , he wasted no time _laying claim_ to what he believed _was his_ … I deserve this, _I deserve this_ …"

For the first time all night, I felt her emotions in our maker-child bond, and it was both a blessing and a curse. She felt overwhelmingly defeated, soul-crushingly hopeless.

It broke my undead heart.

"Sookie," I whispered, saddened by her words, which rang true, "I _do_ care for _you_. You were dying, and I… thought you would accept this, wanted to be a vampire. You had asked my son to turn you only the night before. I assumed…"

Sookie cut me off with the sharp slice of her tongue.

"When you _assume_ , you make an _ass_ out of ' _u_ ' and ' _me'_ ," she chuckled mirthlessly, "Or in this case, an ass outta _you_ and a vampire outta _me_."

She had taught me this idiom before, and I understood it with all too perfect clarity. She was telling me I had made a mistake, presumed too many things – that I had turned her against her will. Suddenly the empty pill bottle I had found beside her unconscious form made all the sense in the world. She had tried to kill herself! But I truly could not fathom why. The Sookie I knew had fire and pluck; she exuded sunshine and _life_. She was a _fighter_ , not a quitter. She had _survived_ a brutal stabbing…

Sookie yawned loudly, needlessly. The noise captured my attention, and shook me from my thoughts.

"I'm tired, _Godric_. Surely, you can force me to talk to you some other time."

I sensed that sunrise was indeed close, and I knew as a fledgling, Sookie would be powerless to resist its pull. It meant I had mere minutes before she simply slipped into unconsciousness, surrendered to death-like sleep. I did not want to leave things with her like this, so embittered and angry.

I knew I had to make the few moments I had count.

"No, I will respect your decision, if you choose to remain silent. I only ask that you give this life, give _me_ a chance, Sookie. I truly believe you will adjust to this life, even grow to love it in time."

"Ha!" She quipped back with a mistrusting huff, "I'll believe _that_ when I see it."

It was the last thing she said before succumbing to her day death. The last thing she said _at all_ to me before, as she _would_ have said, the veritable shit hit the proverbial fan.


	9. Life is a Lemon – Meatloaf

_A/N: Thank you to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

* * *

 **oXOxoXOxo From Chapter 6 oXOxoXOxo**

* * *

I closed my eyes as twilight descended, breathing deeply over and over, and tried to will myself into oblivion, even though I had no doubts that my overdose would kill me in time. I wanted to slip away with some modicum of peace, drift into a wakeless, dreamless sleep – even if I was sure I deserved to suffer like hell instead. Perhaps that's what awaited me on the other side. But I wasn't nervous; I was ready to meet my maker, atone and pay for my sins.

Yes, I thought, Sarah Brightman had been right – it _was_ time to say goodbye.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

I'd never experienced unconditional love, as far as I knew it didn't exist. Every modicum of affection or attention I'd ever received had been dispensed with measure, strings clearly attached. I had been praised for being pleasing, and punished for being difficult. My whole life I had been groomed to serve without question. I'd grown up feeling like an alien in my own skin, foreign to my own needs and wants.

I'd been envious of others, jealous – _especially_ of him and the fantastical life I believed he lived.

I assumed that he was free, unencumbered by the whims of others. I believed if I became like him, it would be the same for me. The thought terrified and exhilarated me – to finally have the opportunity to become a person, to be _real – free_. I desperately longed to have a sense of identity, with desires and dreams all my own, the chance to choose things for myself without fear of reprisal.

But I _never_ wished for love – because love was a master I didn't wanna be slave to.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

I couldn't help but feel someone slump down next to me, upheaving the placid quiet that had surrounded me. It was as if my safe zone had been impeded upon – and after the events of the night, I did not take it lightly. Eyes still closed, I thrashed around, ripping away the last of my stitches, and punched the interloper in what felt like the eye. The force behind my assault had the pain in my hand outweighing my other ailments – thankfully. Maybe I'd even broken it. I couldn't help but inwardly laugh at the irony of my own actions. Here I was, trying to kill myself, and yet I was _still_ prepared to staunchly defend my own life and safety, even to the bitter end.

Truthfully, it gave me some measure of pause.

But then my sister's frozen and pained face rang through my mind. It flashed like an explosion within me. _I_ had done that, caused that – not Henry… _ME_. I felt sick with myself, and then I realized, all too quickly, I was _actually_ going to be sick. An unknown, and unwelcome, hand flew to my back, rubbing circles, as I doubled-over, retching up the meager contents of my stomach. Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I heaved over and over until the urge finally dissipated – which was long after the well, so to speak, had gone dry. Hands flat on the dewy grass, I quickly inspected the aftermath, strangely comforted to see some of the pills _had_ made their way out of my body. I refused to process what that relief meant as the ache for my sister still weighed heavily in my chest – _Ginny_.

But the nagging feeling dominated my thoughts all the same.

I'd been so resigned, readied, to simply end it all. I'd felt like I deserved to be punished. Worse than ever before. I hadn't just failed to protect my sister – I'd _KILLED_ her. I was a murderer, a freak, and probably a fairy – which was insane to me, but explained a lot. I'd already accepted vampires were real, so why not fairies? Hell, there were probably a lot of things out there hiding in the shadows like Ezra.

 _Ezra_.

Why hadn't I just asked him for help, long before any of this shit ever happened?

But of course, I knew the answer – because I'd just never even considered it. I hated my home life, but I'd been protective of it all the same. Guarding it was a foolish mistake I couldn't even begin to forgive myself for. _Ginny_. Her name circulated through the expanse of my body like it was trying to tear at my soul. But somehow I still didn't think she'd be altogether too happy with me if she knew what I was doing. Mostly because if I was truly being honest with myself, she wouldn't be.

She'd be disappointed.

It was a sobering thought, and it tore me back to reality and the unfolding scene. Who the hell was trying to comfort me, and why was I letting them? I didn't know, and I couldn't say, but I decided it was going to stop – _now_. With the back of my hand, I swiped away the disgusting remnants of vomit that clung to my face. Giving no consideration to my injuries, I cleaned the dripping mess off on my shirt, dragging it against my side. I hissed in pain, but also in anger, simultaneously flinching away from the unsettling touch of the stranger. Luckily my message was received, and the attentions ceased without ceremony. I pushed back onto my legs and finally took a look at the person I had blindly attacked with cause.

I sucked in a sharp breath when I realized who it was.

Never in my wildest imaginings would have I guessed it was _him_.

"It's _you_ ," I said with an air of stupefaction, genuinely surprised by his presence, "are you here to take me home again? I'm afraid there's no one there."

I joked darkly, detecting the slight slur in my speech – undeniably, a product of the pills and pain.

I recognized him instantly, even under the moonlight. He looked _so_ much like the man who had carted me home when I was a three-year-old runaway that I was _certain_ it _was_ him. When I was a child, I thought he was a giant, but now I noticed that his height could be characterized as average. I was terrible with age, but he appeared to be much older than he should've been – like time, or the stressors of life, had wearied him. He had age lines and creases in the usual locations, but they were deep and rutted through. His armor looked like it had seen better days, and the insignia on the breastplate had been removed – forcibly, if the torn metal was any indication.

But it _was_ him – black hair, blank mind, and all – I was _sure_ of it.

Even if he did inexplicably stink of garlic.

"No, Princess, you have _many_ enemies there. At your real home – in the Faery Realm, I mean," he admitted almost sheepishly, digging the heel of his hand into the grass next to him.

"Wait… so I _am_ a fairy then?"

I questioned articulately, suddenly sobered by the prospect of getting some much-needed answers.

"A… partial one."

He admitted with a nod, twisting his body to gaze upon the water as if I was making him uncomfortable. He drew not one but two haggard breaths as he schooled himself. I scooted a bit away from him to give him some space, and released my own heavy sigh. Tucking my legs beneath me, I rested into a sitting position, my chest tight and heavy with grief.

I'd lost everything precious to me – _Ginny_.

"I…" the words got trapped in my throat as my heart hammered against my chest, "… something happened earlier…"

"It was… your light… that killed them… I went there first. It should not have manifested so soon," he responded after my words evaporated into the misty sky, the sun dipping farther below the horizon, "...but no doubt, drinking your vampire friend's blood ignited your quiescent fairy powers."

"You're wrong. I didn't drink any blood – vampire or otherwise."

I responded evenly, firmly tamping down my shocked expression as he turned in slow-motion back to face me.

His eyes hid behind a mess of black hair, but his countenance held a chiding and distrustful glower. He waggled a pointed finger towards me, like a parent scolding a petulant child, and barked at me like a rabid, feral dog – unleashed and unhinged.

"Do not lie to me, _Princess_. You _reek_ of it…"

"Hey! I _didn't_ …"

I snapped back hastily, an argument readied on my tongue.

"…and those marks," he continued without faltering, gesturing towards the crook of my neck, "… suggest you returned the favor, offered your blood to slake his thirst. Don't even try to say he glamoured you, hypnotized you into forgetting! You _befriended_ him! You _stupid girl_! You are _lucky_ he did not drain you dry! Our essence is quite addictive to those bloodsuckers."

My fingers trembled lightly as I reached my hand up to touch at the indicated spot, horrified to discover two dimpled bumps – healed over, but still very much present. His observations seemed irrefutable, but I knew he had pegged the wrong vampire. Despite the fairy man's implications, I hadn't seen Ezra in over a week. And there was _no_ way I would've overlooked something as significant as two pink scars on my neck, not with all the care I took to hide my other marrings. No, a different name sprung to mind instead – Eric. That _son of a fucker_ must've fed from me after I passed out in New Orleans! Right before he dumped me at some hospital despite my fervent protestations he do anything but!

That opportunistic bastard!

Anger flowed through me as it ebbed away from the fairy man.

"I... I apologize for my out-outburst, it was out of ch-character and unbe-becoming of someone in my st-station."

He stammered out, slamming one hand into his side while running the other through his hair in an effort to calm himself down. Finding success mere moments later, he continued very matter-of-factly, as if talking about something mundane like the weather.

"Undoubtedly, your vampire will be along soon. His blood in you calls to him, and when he gets here, I imagine he'll waste no time _laying claim_ to what's his. He wants to possess you, _control_ you."

WHAT?! By some weird vampire custom or something _Ezra's son_ … thought he _owned_ me?!

OH HELL NO!

My stomach threatened to churn again as the words bubbling in my throat died in my mouth. The color drained from my face; I felt it. No, the fairy man spoke lies; _no one_ owned me – _not anymore_.

" _Please_ help me," I pleaded, "help me get me outta here. Take me to the hospital, _please_."

"I am sorry. I'm n-not here to save you, Princess. I'm here to make _sure_ that your vampire turns you. He needs to stumble upon you… teetering on the brink of death."

As the words tumbled from his mouth, I pressed my hands against the dew-covered ground, slicing them against the sharp blades of grass, to push myself to my feet. He mirrored my actions, his irises pools of black and unreadable. The painful, open wound in my stomach was long forgotten as adrenaline settled in discomfort's wake. I needed to get away from this place, from the fairy man – from the _vampire_ coming to _claim_ me. Sure, hot sharp pain shot through my form, but a second wave of adrenaline sloshed over it. I didn't wanna die, or be a vampire. I didn't want to disappoint my sister – _Ginny_.

 _I wanted to live._

I tried to launch into a hobbled, but speedy run, using every bit of training I'd done with Ezra to my advantage…

 _ZAP_!

I felt a bolt of what may as well have been electricity strike me in the back and snake through my nerves before I'd made it even a foot away.

 _In fairness –_ I thought, grimly _– I should've seen that coming._

I fell to the ground, convulsing from the waves of energy that cascaded through me. Rolling to my back to suck in a much-needed breath, I saw he was right on top of me. I couldn't move away, stuck to the spot. He straddled my waist and clamped down his palm over my mouth, silencing the cries that threatened to erupt from my throat. I squirmed, but he squeezed his legs together, his knees digging hard into my sides.

I lost circulation almost immediately.

With his hand still clasped over my mouth, he whispered apologetically, "I am sorry, Princess, but it's better this way. I _can't_ let you live, but I _can't_ let you die. This way, everyone wins. One day you will understand I've spared you from a far worse fate – that I did this for _you_."

My limbs pinned beneath him, I gasped and struggled to suck in air, to try to live – to no avail.

Black spots danced in my eyes, bespeckling my vision, and I could feel darkness wriggling through me. I could not believe it, after fighting tooth and nail for a life I had all but thrown away, I was going to die and join the undead – a victim of the fairy man's lethal ministrations. _I-fucking-ronic_ , I thought to myself, as I fell limp, my steely grip on the ground releasing outside my volition. My eyelids filled with lead and surrendered white-flagged to the battle against closing. Unconsciousness quickly began to pull me under.

With my last waking thought, I couldn't help but think I _must_ be cursed – because the last couple of days I just could _not_ catch a fucking break.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Something felt eerily familiar as I peered down at my city map of New Orleans. I couldn't shake the strange feeling of déjà vu that had settled over me as I realized without a doubt that despite my best efforts, I was completely lost. I couldn't even remember how it had happened.

Did it matter? It'd happened all the same.

The laminated drawing may as well have been written in hieroglyphics, a jumbled mess of blurs and smudges. I knew inherently I wouldn't have been able to make head or tails of what it said even if the streetlights flickered on to break the night's obscuring haze. I shrugged it off as a byproduct of my renowned directional issues. I needed to find my hotel, which somehow had moved since I'd left it earlier in the day for a bout of sight-seeing. It was _somewhere_ around here, but for the life of me I didn't know where.

I sighed deeply, and admitted defeat.

I was going to have to go with Plan B – find a local, or two, and ask for directions.

"Excuse me?"

I asked a couple passing by, who practically materialized out of thin air. I chalked it up their sudden appearance to my distracted state, ignoring the odd lack of traffic on the previously bustling street.

"Could you help me? I'm lost. I'm trying to get back to the French Quarter…"

I stopped there, almost expecting to be interrupted for some inexplicable reason.

The young blonde woman furrowed her brow, pursing her lips, and I rushed to continue, afraid she might walk away, "… that's where my hotel is. I'm staying at the Wyndam."

"You're not too far away," The young blonde woman enthused, smiling broadly – warmly.

She let go of her man's arm, and took a couple small steps towards me. I watched her closely, suddenly fearful of her approach. She looked maybe nineteen, only a couple of years older than me. Her face was so bright, and her eyes were full of happiness and life. She obviously took good care of herself.

The smiling Samaritan held her hand out for my map, and then motioned for me to come to her side.

I moved slowly, questioning my strange and unrelenting trepidation.

"Okay," She said cheerfully, "Now, you are _here_. This over here," She pointed to another section of the map, "is where your hotel is. So you just need to go one more block down this road, and then turn left onto Royal Street. You'll go about two more blocks before you hit the Wyndam, but all in all I'd say you're only about a ten-minute walk away – at most."

"Oh that's great!" I said genuinely, my anxieties melting, and accepted back the offered map, "Thanks so much for all your help!"

"No problem," She chuckled lightly, stepping away from me to thread her arm back into her man's, "Have a great rest of your trip, and safe travels home!"

She waved over her shoulder as they walked away, disappearing into the cloud of fog and mist that now surrounded me.

Weird.

That hadn't been there before.

I started walking in the recommended direction, and almost instantly I found myself back at the hotel, sitting on the bed in my favorite flannel pajamas.

I was unnerved by the unexpected insistent, stabbing phantom pain that shot through my gut. I hugged myself tightly as I contemplated going to sleep earlier than usual. What had I eaten for lunch? Because whatever it was just wasn't sitting well with me anymore. I straightened up to scooch under the covers and gasped when I saw my arms were _covered_ in blood. I ripped up my buttoned shirt to inspect myself for wounds or injuries. But there were none – outside the usual scabs, scars, and bruises. Just as quickly, I glanced at my arms to find them clean, not a drop of red in sight.

 _Okay, no more Cajun food, Addy_ – I thought to myself – _all that spice must be messing with your head._

My heartbeat slowed to a normal clip, and I shoved my legs under the covers. In seconds, I was out like a light. Or at least that's how it seemed to me.

* * *

The next day came and went in the blink of an eye, and before I knew what was happening I was back in Dallas, sitting at the kitchen table across from my little sister, Ginny.

 _Ginny_.

A sharp pang shot through my heart at the mention of her name. Tears welled up and pooled in my eyes as if I'd lost her or something. It felt like _I had_. But that made no sense – she was right in front of me! Everything in the background was blurry, but somehow that didn't matter much to me because she was there, a beautiful light kissing her outline.

 _Ginny_.

"How was New Orleans?"

She sing-songed, passing me a suspiciously-empty salad bowl – setting it down on the table to her left, like we'd been taught to do. Her eyes sparkled with life; I couldn't _help_ but notice. It warmed my heart to see it, and made me feel less… _guilty_. What had I done that I needed to feel guilty about?

I refused to dwell on it, shaking my head of my own internal musings.

I had bigger fish to fry – at least it _felt_ like I did.

Time practically stopped while I mentally catalogued each aspect of my sister's appearance – from the little scar on her chin from her first bike ride to the dimples that crept into her cheeks when she smiled. Gosh, I loved her. If love was a real thing, and not just a word people like my parents threw around, I definitely loved my sister. She lit up every room she walked into, and protecting her had given me purpose. What would I ever do without her?

 _Ginny_.

I didn't rightly know.

My sister had been my anchor, my world. She pulled me back from the darkness when it threatened to overtake me. She was the voice in my head, the one who kept me sane – and grounded. Sure, I shouldered the burden of my father's aggressions to shield her, but her glancing smiles and bubbly laughs made it all worthwhile. I knew I'd never be anything but weird, or fit in with the normies, but I hoped to high heaven that the brunt I bore gave her the chance – the opportunity to be like everyone else. Happy, carefree…

 _Ginny_.

To be something I could never aspire to be – accepted.

"It was great," I replied, "My _trial run_ went off without a hitch, _Mom_."

Precipitously in my line of vision, my mother laughed melodically from her seated position next to Ginny. I furrowed my brow, trying to recall when she had joined the scene. But my recollections were diverted as I spied wisps of smoke rising from her chest. I attempted to address the unexplained billows, but my words got choked off in my throat, which felt tight and constricted like a hand was curled against my windpipe. My mother's mirthful expression transformed into a fearful gape, and I scrambled to my feet to rush to her side. My chair knocked to the ground without a sound, and I tried to yell out again, but to no avail.

 _What_ was going on?!

Panic set in.

When I reached her side, my mother peered up at me quizzically, wordlessly questioning my actions. There was no smoke, no graying vapors to be seen. I'd somehow imagined the whole thing. I wondered if the Cajun food still clutched at my stomach, and head. Or perhaps I hadn't gotten enough sleep. At least that's what I told myself as I ambled back to my seat. I chewed on my thumb nail absent-mindedly, feeling the slightest bit unsettled all the same.

"Good to hear, Addy."

My father said, the door thrown open and darkness casting in, inexplicably back from his business trip without a suitcase in hand.

I reached into my mind to try to throw down my telepathic shields. I wanted to gauge my father's mental state, to determine the immediate threat level. It was a habit of mine when he was around, practically second nature. But my shields were nowhere to be found, and my ability to hear thoughts was just gone – _gone_. The silence was off-putting, but also somewhat welcomed. Like I was just another normal girl. _Ginny_. My gift had proved invaluable time and time again, but its presence made me feel… less connected with the real world, like I was mostly living inside my head.

Maybe I was.

"You know, you're _not_ really our daughter."

My mother said chirpily, clapping her hands together like a cheerleader about to break into a badly worded cheer. ' _You're not our daughter! Not! Not our daughter! Said, you're not. Our daughter. Not. Not. Our daughter._ ' It was like her words were in stereo and on repeat in my mind as if on a record scratched and broken.

"What?"

I squeaked out, another wave of déjà vu crashing through me.

"I said, _pass the peas_ ," My mother sneered, "Geez, Addy, you sure are acting funny. Are you feeling okay?"

I glanced down. There was a ceramic bowl of green marbles in my previously empty hands. What was going on? I didn't know and I couldn't say – a lump the size of a frog taking up residence in my throat.

But, I was not okay. I definitely was not okay.

"The fairy's just a little tired I think. She's had a hard day, _dying_ and all."

 _What_?!

I wanted to scream out, but the word died as it bounced around in my mouth.

The unidentified speaker trailed a finger lightly up and down my neck, sending electric shivers down my spine. I tried to turn my head to see who it was – to question them – but no one was behind me. The space empty and black. When I whipped back around, I was alone, sitting on wet grass and staring at the moonlight dancing on the waters at White Rock Lake. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to make sense of the jarring sensory change, the jumping scenes. With my glistening blues clamped shut, images of my family – dead and gaping – flashed behind my eyelids, and I jumped, almost out of my skin.

 _Ginny_.

Frantic and terrified, I sought to escape the haunting and gruesome imaginings – God, I hoped they were – so I pried at my eyes. They clicked open, automatically – robotically. A red-hazed blur of hungry flooded me, tinging my vision. My mind felt heavy and crowded, full of crumbling walls and tsunamis filled with foreign sensations – all fighting tooth and nail for precedence. I spied a second figure in the room, and instantly catapulted myself off of the furniture I found below me.

I practically _flew_.

Everything felt raw and loud – and _BRIGHT_. My throat throbbed, and I felt my nerves sizzle in response. My body was boiling from the inside, hot like lightening. My hand trembled as it trailed across the skin of my stomach and upwards – my own touch feeling foreign, cold, and disturbing. Reaching my face, my fingers rested on the sharp pair of fangs descending from my gum line.

I yelled with a guttural tone alien to my ears, instantly feeling like a rabid animal out for blood.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!"

In a blink, I'd crossed the room – murderous thoughts dripping through my brain. I pressed at the stranger, blaming them and trying to sink my curled claws into them in an effort to feed my new passenger, the raging beast inside me. I stifled the urge to flinch as the faceless man held out a bag of something to me, hoping instead to spook _him_. I couldn't decipher the container's sloshing contents, but they had to be _wet_. Everything was out of focus like a poorly snapped picture – _everything_. My blurry eyes flitted up and down, striving unsuccessfully to discern the scene. The word 'surreal' popped into my head, and I heeded its warning.

 _'It's a dream Addy! –_ I screamed in my head _– It_ has _to be. Wake up! Wake up!_

It _had_ to be a nightmare; it _HAD_ to be. Only my father and the Sandman had ever left me feeling so helpless, so out of control – and Henry was nowhere to be seen.

' _Such disrespect… She will need to learn to defer to me in all measures as her elder, as her maker…_ '

My telepathy reappeared out of thin air, the speaker's severe and growly words pounding unmercifully against my addled head.

"Drink," the dark-eyed nightmare man said, temptation laced in his tone and his imperceptible features bathed in a reddish glow, "You are famished, and require sustenance."

My hands slipped out, of their own accord, and tore the bag from his hands. I zipped away, afraid to be within his reach for a second longer. Outside my own volition, my mouth sank into the rubbery plastic and its liquid filling coated my throat, tasting thick and sour – like curdled milk. But I couldn't stop, not even when the coldness jolted through my veins, electrifying me.

My own body gnashed at me, began to tear me apart – an insatiable beast inside me ravenous for more.

I felt _inhuman_ , and I _HATED_ it.

 _This_ can't _be real, it can't be real. Wake up, Addy. WAKE UP!_ – I sobbed in my head, unable to wrest the words from my throat.

 _'... that fervor suggests her hunger was overwhelming her sensibilities...'_

I looked down to find my hands latched around a second bag, stuffing it into my mouth like its continued existence stood between me and my own. Greedily I devoured the contents, finding them this time to be settling… calming like a morning breeze or a summer storm. _Human_ , I felt… almost human again. The syrupy substance stilled my shaky nerves almost immediately, hushing the crackling fires within me.

Dulcet and concerned tones rang through my form, and I swayed my head towards the sound. _Who_ was that? Peering through slowly unclouding eyes, the rounded edges of the speaker's face sharpened until his identity came into unobscured view – _Ezra_.

And then I remembered – _everything_ – and that's about when the nightmare _truly_ began.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

I'd been an unwitting prisoner in the cell of a vampire body for six days, three hours, twelve minutes and forty-one, forty-two… forty-three seconds – but who was counting?

"How's the mute?"

Pam said to Ezra's son, motioning in my direction as she swept into the common room, her too-high heels clicking and clacking against the stone floor with each step she took.

' _Can't believe that little freak has to live with us until Godric comes back for her_.'

Me neither, but here we were.

I'd taken up residence in Louisiana five days ago, the second time I'd woken up dead. The night of my rising had been… turbulent at best, a nightmare at worst. I'd almost blabbed about my telepathy, and Ezra had lorded his newly-acquired powers over me; his true self finally reared its ugly head. I hadn't said one word to him since, begrudged and bereaved – the latter unrelated to the former. But despite my foul behavior or his obvious displeasure with me, Ezra hadn't ditched me with his son. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

He was trying to ensure he got to keep me – _forever_.

He'd sent me away, for my own protection. King Whiskey had been much too interested in me for his own liking – mine too. So at least Ezra and I agreed on one thing. But it wouldn't have mattered if I'd objected because Ezra was my new _master_ , a job previously held by my father, by Henry. Veritably, I'd gone out the frying pan and into the fire. Truly _nothing_ about my life had changed. Albeit no stranger to suffering, now I faced my own personal, potentially… _never-ending_ hell.

Well, so _one_ thing had changed.

"Sluta det, Pam."

Gosh, I hoped Marmaduke Man was calling her a bad name. It certainly sounded like he was. But I'd already been around the two of them long enough to know he wasn't. I didn't totally understand the dynamics of their relationship, but I was pretty sure they were together. Like _together_ together. I wasn't about to ask for confirmation, but they definitely had me feeling like the odd vampire out. I knew I was cramping their style, and I hated to admit I _liked_ it. I didn't have much going for me – being dead, but not gone and all – so messing with them had become the one bright spot in my nights.

A small, pinhole-sized spot.

The rest of the time I just stared at the wall from my spot on the couch, wallowing in my misery, or locked in my room, doing much the same.

 _Six days, three hours, sixteen minutes, and twenty-two, twenty-three… twenty-four seconds._

I hadn't left the house at all, or even stepped outside, since becoming a temporary ward of Ezra's son and Pam. Not because my new wardens kept me in, but because I didn't wanna go out. In fact, for five days I'd never even bothered to change outta my PJs. I didn't sweat anymore, so they weren't dirty. And honestly, why would I get dressed? It wouldn't change anything.

I was stuck in an endless nightmare, blinded – at least temporarily – by my grief and depression.

Everything reminded me of _Ginny_ , literally every single thing including Ezra – _especially Ezra_ …but also everything else in my Louisiana prison. The couches were dyed auburn like her hair, the bathroom fixtures shined like her smile, the blue accent wall screamed innocence like her eyes. She was everywhere, but completely out of reach. My undead heart clenched so often, I could've sworn it was just flat-out beating.

But that was impossible. Because I was dead – but animated, like a zombie.

"Varför skyddar du henne? Hon dödade dig nästan! OCH hon förlorade min jävla klänning!"

 _'UGH! The fucking nerve of him!_ '

Pam flipped her long golden mane over her shoulder as she stormed out of the room in a huff. Lover's spat, I guessed. Maybe he _had_ called her a bad name. But I knew there was no way in hell he'd called her ugly, compared her to me. Like the Unincredible Hulk, Pam could've been torn out of the pages of a magazine. Truly, she might've been. That woman was so beautiful she had probably been crafted from clay and given life by the Greek Gods. She had legs for days – _for days_. She literally towered over me, heels or not, and I knew I paled in comparison to her. I didn't wanna focus on it too much, other more weighty things on my mind, but it was looking like a ticket to club vampire was only given to _perfect_ tens.

So why the hell had Ezra done this to _me_?

Had emo-vampires existed before? Because it was definitely a thing _now_.

 _Six days, three hours, twenty-one minutes, and… oh, right on the dot._

I stifled the urge to sigh for about the hundredth time since the sunset. I had no need to breathe, but I just felt… defeated. I wanted to actualize my pain – to feel something else – but Ezra had stolen the choice from me. A marionette to my new _puppet-master_. So instead I pictured myself with my shoulders slumped over, sobbing until my eyes hurt.

I fantasized often about having an emotional breakdown.

But in reality, my posture couldn't have been stiffer or my expression emptier. Henry would have been so proud – or at least he would've have approved. I'd learned several lessons at his hand and, as sick as it was to say, I was finally becoming grateful for them. My life had taken a sharp left turn into a deep chasm, but I'd already lived through chaos and with a monster – so now was just more of the same.

Head down, emotions schooled was the only play worth running, the only chance I had at survival.

Plus, if I didn't play nice, I was irritatingly aware that Ezra had the means to make me.

"Sookie."

Without craning my neck, my eyes flicked to the right to glare at _Drew_. He was waiting for a reaction I had no intents to give, but he still quirked his eyebrow expectantly.

While _Drewth_ hadn't said or thought anything altogether _too_ nasty about me, unlike Pam, he certainly wasn't above trying to bait me into speaking. I would've expected vampires to be able to handle silence, but I could tell my depressed muteness unnerved him. Like Ezra, his thoughts were a jumbled mix of languages, but I had caught enough English utterances to get the drift. Mentally, he'd been plotting, devising ways to try to trick me into talking. Case in point, _Andily_ refused to use my preferred name because he _knew_ how much it irked me. But his efforts hadn't bore fruit previously, and they weren't going to pay off now either.

I stared right back into his cerulean blues, still trying to stave off melancholy thoughts of _Ginny_.

 _'Quit acting like a spoilt child, min lilla faerie! Say something!_ '

Mister Impatient growled in his head as he searched my eyes for… something.

 _Not. Gonna. Happen_.

I thought – inwardly giggling that I could hear him, but he could not hear me.

I didn't rightly know what I would do once Ezra came back to Louisiana to take me away. He reminded me too much of _Ginny_. He'd helped to take her away from me. Intentionally? Unintentionally? Those were just words. He'd told me – he'd told me! – he'd intervened and stopped his son from turning me.

And the result?

I'd lost everything important to me – _Ginny_. I'd _killed_ my sister, pulled the trigger on the veritable smoking gun. I hated myself for it, but him a little too. Whether he meant to or not, he'd inadvertently put the lightening in my hands and metaphorically shoved me in her direction. How could he have been so short-sighted taking me to the hospital?! Of course, I'd run home! I'd woken up _alone_ and scared!

Sure, I was being infinitely petty and unfair, but I hadn't turned _myself_ into a freaking weapon.

Plus, shouldering _all_ the blame would drive me crazy – I _had_ to parse it out.

So instead, I was rebelling – by swimming around in my own head. Occasionally, I'd pop up for air and pay attention to the things happening around me, but only if it involved annoying Ezra's son. I loved how easily I could frustrate him. Seriously, were vampires not that adept at keeping their cool? Because I was beginning to think _no_.

From all _Andrew's_ internal huffing and puffings, I was pretty sure he hated me _now_ more than ever. Sadly, the feeling was no longer quite as mutual, even though I wanted it to be – especially since he'd bitten me, fed me blood. But bothering Fangy Towers temporarily distracted me from my grief and pain, kept me from losing my last shred of sanity. Gave me a much needed break from reality.

Pin-hole bright spots.

 _Ginny_.

 _Six days, three hours, forty-four minutes, and five, six... seven seconds._

Forfeiting our staring contest – Addy: 12, _Drew_ : 0 – _Raggedy Andy_ turned away from me, and pushed his fingers through his hair, dejectedly. I studied him like an open book, and I didn't like what I saw. It wasn't a good look on him – giving in, giving up. My heart clenched again at the sight of him.

Sometimes winning brought me no measures of happiness, not even tiny ones.

"You are going out tonight. I have Area business to attend to, and _you_ are coming along. Go get changed."

 _'Maybe then she will actually_ look _more like a fucking vampire, and less like a mopey teenager.'_

I stood up, my bare feet kissing the cold stone floor, and slipped on the slippers I'd shucked off next to the couch to head towards my room. My actions earned me an over-the-shoulder glance, and a look of genuine surprise. If he had expected a fight, or a hissy fit, he had another thing coming. Head down, push forwards; it'd been my daily mantra for as long as I could remember. Plus, I was _nothing_ if not adaptable. It _was_ time I started acting like a vampire, like a monster – like a Harding. Got my emotional displays in check. My outward expressions under lock and key.

It wasn't like I hadn't had tons of practice at it.

It was time to truly showcase my talents, to make the years of hell I endured _worth_ it.

Because, like the Testy Titan, _I'd_ been knee-deep in stratagems too. And for my jail-break plan to work, I _needed_ Ezra and his son to believe I hadn't lost my spirit, that I loved my new state of being – Addy 2.0, now with fangs! I couldn't beat them by brute force alone, so I had to make them think I'd joined them. I had to lull them into a false sense of security, so I could grab control over my life. I almost laughed out loud just thinking about it – almost.

Because despite his best efforts, _Henry_ had taught me how to do _that_ , too.

* * *

"Well, I'll tell you this, sweet pea – you've certainly got the _balls_ to be a vampire."

Pam enthused as I glided down the mahogany staircase, periwinkle cardigan in tow.

 _'Is that my fucking sweater?!'_

I'd strategically chosen the least vampire-like outfit I could dig out of my meager new belongings and Pam's closet alike. I cared little if she got irked by my intrusion, if I bothered my vampire… niece? – I still wasn't too keen on how this weird undead family tree stuff worked – by borrowing her clothes. I figured, if anything, she'd owed me. She'd been acting like I murdered her puppy the whole week. She obviously hated me, and I was eager to return the sentiment in kind. Plus I had to admit, minus a couple missteps in my opinion, she really had style.

But, sometimes Pam liked to dress like a soccer mom who had choked on a Technicolor paintbrush, and in this case, it was a good thing.

Her strange obsession with pastels worked perfectly for what I'd concocted in a spur of the moment sass-filled rebellion against the authority in these here parts. _Sheriff What's-His-Name_ had told me he planned to cart me along to his job – bring your vampire sister to work night? – asking me to change first. Despite hopping to my feet, I'd been none too enthusiastic about shucking off my comforting pajamas for some real "vampire" clothes until I realized the potential fun that could be had.

Because Pam was _also_ a vampire.

So any of her adornments counted, right?

 _Yes_ – I thought – _yes, they freaking did._

My heart clenched again as I descended the stairs – _Ginny_ – my grief railing against the prison-like confines of my chest, but I tamped it down. Right now I needed to reach for my full snark-potential and pretend I was the same girl I used to be. Even though I wasn't, and I'd never be again. I was a murderer, an ugly freak, and now a monster – with fangs.

Some blights just couldn't be remedied.

 _Six days, four hours, seven minutes, and fifty-eight, fifty-nine… eight minutes._

"You like?"

I practically croaked, while twirling down the final steps, as I stretched my vocal chords to break the silent streak I'd maintained for five days straight.

 _'I hate you so fucking much right now, sweet pea.'_

I deftly pulled the buttoned sweater on, instinctually tugging the sleeves down to my wrists, not ashamed but covetous of my secrets, the raised white marks that still littered my arms. Battle-earned trophies, proof I'd survived my childhood tribulations – in some sense. Vampire blood had done wonders for my complexion, and surgery site, but apparently some scars just stuck – like these, like most of them.

"Well, I will say this," Pam purred a moment later as her pointy teeth clicked into place, waggling an eyebrow suggestively, "Dressed like that, you're bound to get a little fang."

If I could've blushed, I would've – that wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been going for.

* * *

While he sped down the backroads of Louisiana towards a destination unknown, Ezra's son complained in his head as he effectively white-knuckled the black leather steering wheel of his red corvette.

 _'A yellow fucking sundress, really?! What does she want to_ do _– attract_ all _the fucking attention in the fucking world?!'_

I couldn't help but smirk.

Now _that_ was closer to the reaction I'd been hoping for.

* * *

 _Translations_

 _"Sluta det, Pam." = "Stop it, Pam."_

 _"Varför skyddar du henne? Hon dödade dig nästan! OCH hon förlorade min jävla klänning!" = "Why do you protect her? She almost killed you! AND she lost my damn dress!"_


	10. Hey Brother – Avicii

_A/N: Thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

 _I love writing this story and its darkness/complexity, and for anyone worried it won't be an Eric/Sookie HEA, it will be._

 _Trust me._

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

In two thousand years, I had met, and studied, three types of liars in the world.

Those who did it for pleasure, for the sheer sport of it – to see how many lies they could stack – one on top of the other – before their house of cards came tumbling down.

Those who did it to protect themselves, to hide their sins – or the follies of others – from those around them, gathering wool over others' eyes as they pretensed a feigned happiness, while suffering silently.

And lastly, those who did it under the belief that every tidbit they withheld was truly for the benefit of those around them and contributed to the greater good, under the guise that their deceptions – their high-handed ministrations – were carefully crafted to shield others from the harshness of the world.

 _To help_.

My newest progeny fell into the second bucket, as I learned over time – and much to my chagrin. But nipping at the heels of that revelation, the evidence unignorably damning, I realized that I myself could be categorized under the third. Which was, in truth, the worst of the three, and befitting of some modicum of shame.

Because the third type consisted of those who were not just only comfortable lying to others, but also… _to themselves._

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

My eyes snapped open, as they did every night, hours before sundown. After two thousand years, nothing about the experience was jarring, but I was used to waking alone. I needed seconds to remember the _why_ behind the weight on the bed next to me.

My friend, my newest child, my Sookie.

Looking over to my left, I gazed for a while at my still-sleeping progeny, whose eyebrows were knitted together even in death-like sleep. That, along with the tight purse of her crimson-tinged lips, signaled a truth in the words she spat at me before succumbing to her day death.

 _When you_ assume _, you make an ass out of_ u _and_ me _..._

She did not want to be a vampire.

In her opinion, I had made a mistake, but I could not bring myself to agree.

Seeking to tuck a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear, I accidentally brushed my fingertips across her cheek. I noted a slight bit of warmth still clinging to her porcelain-like visage. _Odd_. Her stiffened features relaxed a small fraction at the touch, and instinctively I sought to repeat my actions, bring her continued relief from whatever stressors gripped her tight. I cupped her jaw tenderly, stroking her soft skin with my thumb. Little by little, her tense expression relaxed until serenity washed over her sweet face. My hand lingered a few minutes longer, as my own anxieties eased alongside hers. I literally could not imagine a world without her in it. Without her taunting me mercilessly and reminding me what it was like to truly _live_.

She was wrong, this was no mistake.

I would have to make her see.

 _I thought you were my friend, Godric…_

Sookie's accusing words rang through my mind. I tried to pretend it had not rattled me, her despondent plea, but it had cut straight to the bone. It was then I realized I knew very little about the young woman I had turned. I could not say how she had spent her days; she had not offered, and I had not asked, pleased to avoid the subject altogether. Years had passed without a single intimate or historical detail shared between us. I had considered myself lucky, to have found a human almost itching to be as impersonal as I was. Our strange friendship had been easy – _too easy_. _Why_ had I pushed away the urge to question that?

Because obviously I had not wanted an answer, could not handle complicating things.

Some part, a guilt-ridden infestation of a hole inside me, thought I had been _right_ not to ask.

 _NO, I'M NOT OKAY! HOW COULD YOU EVEN ASK ME THAT?!_

Her biting words still rattled about in my head as I reached slowly for her limp hand, and gave it a light squeeze. I dropped it back to her side before slipping slowly from my seated position at her side. She would not rise for quite some time, and I wanted to settle some small affairs so I could spend my nighttime hours attending to her fledgling needs.

We had much to discuss, and accomplish.

* * *

"She still sleeps, Master Godric? Shall I wait to transfer her fetched clothes to the closet?"

Sabine asked, meeting me outside my chamber door, an evenness in her tone that did not betray a legitimate interest in my newest progeny's current state.

She tucked a series of manila folders full of paper against her silk-clad chest, the pile pushing up against the tied-bow that dressed her neck. Sabine juggled her armload with ease and grace. But Sookie would have insisted, kind-hearted as she was, to help, and I felt obliged to do the same.

Against my better judgment, I had let my dotter change me.

I gave Sabine my assent with a nod. Then I motioned, hands out and palms up, for her to transfer a share of the heavy load over to me. If she was shocked by my gesture, she did not show it, hesitating only a moment before acquiescing to my bidden request.

"It is the one of the last times I will handle paperwork."

I inexplicably explained with a low, short chuckle, and a smile tugging at the corners of my lips that did not succeed in overtaking my countenance.

"Yes, Master Godric."

Sabine replied, a smile in her eyes that did not reach her mouth – outwardly impassive, but inwardly pleased at my offering.

She swept in behind me as I bounded towards my office, throwing the door back to find the King of Texas lounging comfortably in my chair – his mud-caked boots perched on my desk. I stifled the anger that cascaded throughout my form. His disrespectful display was an offense I was eager to overlook. The mahogany piece would not be mine much longer anyway, since just the night before I had resigned my position as Sheriff of the Area. I reminded myself, seeking a calm that did not come easily, that I had merely owed a couple paltry months before I was fully freed from my duty to the great state.

An inconsequential amount of time for a vampire as old as myself.

A pithy and meager exchange to ensure my dotter's safety.

King Jameson smirked as I sat in the Queen Anne's chair directly across from him, settling the file folders away from his feet, which remained stationary. Sabine stacked her share on top of mine before giving a sweeping bow and light-footing it out of the room. The King's eyes never flicked in her direction, boring into me as a question danced on his tongue. Once Sabine hushed the door into its jamb, the utterance itching in his mouth spilled out suggestively.

"Where _is_ that _delectable_ new child of yours now, Godric? I'm all a-twitter – anxious, ya know – to have her drop to her knees and _swear_ fealty."

He shuddered, flicking his tongue out to lick his lips as though unable to tamp down the disgusting display.

 _What the fuck!?_

Unwilling to suffer even his veiled indignities, I leapt to my feet. More than a thousand years my junior, I did not see Aaron as a threat as much as I suffered his bullshit – but no more! Curling my claw-like fingers, sinking them into the wood through its lacquered sheen, I roared, "SHE. IS. MINE!" loudly – my threat unavoidable, and my intents to deliver on it inescapable. My irises pooled back, and I felt my beast beating against its rattled cage – demanding its release.

"Whoa now. Merely a joke, old friend. Geez… thinking I'd meant anything untowards there – pfft," he blew out, like a raspberry Sookie would have said, " _Of course_ , she's yours now. Who else's would she be?"

He replied, ignoring my aggressive display as he inspected his nails fixedly, unaffectedly – like his words had been light-natured and of harmless intent.

Unlike my dotter, who likely still would not have bought his song and dance, I had not been reborn yesterday.

But I had other designs than to kill a King.

His swift death would guarantee future troubles.

The half-assed apology hung unaccepted in the air between us. Several minutes passed in relative silence, only the soft pattering of shoed feet heard shuffling outside the closed door. I stilled my swirling emotions, plucking my fingers one by one out of the punctured holes. Then Aaron dropped his observed hand and swung his crossed legs off the desk, to the floor, positioning his elbow on the desk and steepling his fingers together.

"Now that unpleasantness's behind us then, let's talk shop – about Isabel's quarry, to be real specific there."

He cut to the quick, eager to discuss the last bit of business in my purview before I retired.

I had told him all this before, but it seemed he wanted to hear it again.

Other stratagems swirling through my mind, I recounted the short conversation that had taken place with Queen Sophie Anne LeClerq – the one that occurred just prior to Sookie's attack. I had gone to Louisiana to play the messenger and offer her a deal she could not refuse – the rogue vampire's life in exchange for her hand in a contracted alignment between the two states. The Queen's choices essentially nonexistent, our prisoner apparently indispensable, she had begrudgingly accepted. Days ago, Sophie Anne had even engaged her demon lawyer, Desmond Cataliades, to settle the final terms of the arrangement.

King Aaron had Louisiana over a barrel – she knew it and so did he.

Outwardly pleased and boasting, Jameson ordered Sabine to bring us a celebratory glass of blood, insisting I join him in a toast. I respectfully declined, excusing myself to return to Sookie's side. I did not want her to wake up alone on her second night as vampire, but more importantly our plans had changed for the evening. I had no intents to risk her safety by keeping her within reach of the Texas King.

In short, there was much we had to do.

* * *

I vamped down the hallway back towards my room, my mind weaving bit after bit of my hurried schemes into a tapestry-like plan. While I did not like it, I appreciated my own needs were secondary to my progeny's. I stopped momentarily, to speak with Sabine, before sweeping into my personal space. I lowered myself onto the mattress, sitting beside my newest progeny. Closing my eyes, I honed in on my internal clock, noting the pull of the sun had vanished, which signaled its full dip below the horizon.

I knew Sookie was likely to wake any minute, and then she did.

"I don't wanna die! _I DON'T WANNA DIE!"_

She screamed as her eyes snapped open, rich with unshed red tears. Then she became reanimated, instinctively thrashing about like someone trying to ward off a predator. Her arms stretched in all directions, and one connected with my jaw before I stepped off the bed. Her words had stunned me, so much so I had inadvertently allowed her blow to connect. Not only had my progeny been potentially dreaming – the undead did not dream – but she appeared to be fighting for her life, the one she had by all accounts tried to throw away.

Had she come to regret her attempt at suicide?

Was she now grateful for her turning, for her a second life?

At the time, I thought 'yes,' but as the night wore on, her actions said 'no.'

When she spied me in her vision, Sookie quieted her irrepressible exclamations, and dipped her head low. I moved to her side, sitting edged on the side of the bed as she scooted to a seated position against the headboard, her legs folded in front of her. I reached for her hand, trying to offer my child the comforting touch I had learned from her to give. But Sookie flinched away, moving away from me without parting her lips to spill out a word. Her eyes fixed on her hands, which simultaneously tugged at the tunic she wore. She struggled to stop the linen cloth from riding up her thighs, seeking to cover the small bit of exposed flesh above her knees.

It appeared to be more of a nervous tick than a conscious effort.

Like she was inexorably sad – so out of sorts.

I did not like it, not one bit.

Despite my own aching desire to throw my arms about her and hush away her demons, I dropped my hand back down to my own clothed thigh. I could not help but remember how she had so easily accepted my reticence when I had sidestepped her hugs. She had allowed me my space without so much as an annoyed scowl, or even a frown. Her rejection of my affections, her unspoken request, had all but asked me to do the same.

So I acquiesced, although I had not wanted to.

I knew she needed time to adjust to her new state of being.

But I desperately hoped one day I could hug her again.

"Sookie," I said softly, thumbing at the fabric of my dark wash denims, "Tonight, we are traveling to Louisiana, post-haste. Sabine, my assistant, has procured clothing and such for you – all in your size and style. I will have her pack it while you feed, and then we will leave."

Out of my peripheral vision, I spotted another small tug at the hem of the cloth adorning her body, I supposed she was seeking again for the cover the cloth could not give her.

While Sookie would not feel the chill high in the sky as we whipped through the night air, flying tended to shred thinner garments. My linen tunic was simply not up to the task. My friend had never been one for immodesty, wearing long-sleeve jackets or cardigans at all times of year – irrespective of the pervasive Texas heat.

"But first, Sabine will bring you something to change into – jeans, I think."

Sookie shrugged her shoulders dispiritedly, but I spied a slight bit of relief trickle over our otherwise quiet bond. Her disquietude and silence concerned me, but at least I had our weak maker-child bond to temper her reactions. Knowing I had brought her even a semblance of respite made me feel like maybe things were finally moving in the right direction. Like we _would_ be able to find a way to bridge the chasm torn between us.

Maybe not today, but someday.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

With Sookie bridal-style in my arms with her travel bag resting in her lap, I flew from Dallas to Shreveport, tarrying a bit compared to the flights I had taken during the past week. Earlier, I had zipped along at blurring speeds to get to Sookie. Now, I was doing quite the opposite, shepherding her away from a King I did not trust – but also from myself. I regretted leaving her in someone else's care during her first month as vampire, but Jameson's subversive threats could not be ignored – or appropriately punished.

The target on my dotter's back would become much larger, more pronounced if I took over the kingship.

I found myself wedged unceremoniously between a rock and a hard place, as Sookie would have said.

Landing in the woods outside Eric's residence, I set Sookie down, taking her bag from her as we trekked the rest of the way to the house. Even though it had barely been two weeks, it felt like it had been a lifetime ago since we had walked side by side. For Sookie, it technically _was_ something that had happened in another life.

It felt like the half-mile stroll had instilled a sense of normality back into our strained friendship.

 _Another step_ – pun intended – _in the right direction_ , I thought to myself.

Pam opened the ornate wooden door, nodding her 'hello' to me before disappearing entirely, a veritable cloud of upended dust left in her wake. Sookie stepped inside behind me, her eyes instantly swallowing the grand foyer – bouncing from corner to corner. To the casual observer, she appeared overwhelmed, but I had seen her do this before, at the rollercoaster park. She was, to an extent, surveilling the space and absorbing every detail.

I liked that she did this instinctually, even if Eric's house _was_ practically a citadel in its own right.

Eric grunted his greeting after vamping down the stairs. Despite the call I had made in advance, to notify him of my plans, he scowled as he looked over Sookie. Perhaps, he blamed her for the Fairy Blight, or for my anger with him for trying to turn her himself. I did not know, I did not care. With my previous command still in force, she could not hurt herself and he could not harm her either – he would _have_ to protect her as I would.

It had almost backfired once, but she was vampire now – safe.

It was not as though the need would arise to turn her _again_.

"What do you expect me to _do_ with her?"

Eric said in his native Swedish, the sneer evident in his tone, but also plainly drawn on his face.

"Sookie," I said, handing her the small black duffle bag carrying her few belongings, "the guest room is up the stairs – first door on the left."

I chastised myself internally for not asking Eric prior if he had any troubles replacing the door I had torn off, but I supposed if he had he would have offered her a different room.

Her wide blue eyes traveled up the length of the staircase, tracing the proffered route, and then drew back along the same path. Her face remained unaffected and impassive as she stared into nothingness. But a small tendril of fear still escaped from her and into our small bond, alerting me to her discomfort. I could not imagine what worried her so about a room – one she had yet to lay eyes on – but I felt inclined to offer a mollifying statement all the same.

"Sookie," I whispered, leaning in for at least the semblance of privacy, knowing that vampire hearing made it impossible, "each room is like a fortress inside a fortress, light-tightened with locking mechanisms on the inside. You are safe here – _I promise_ ," I stressed, hoping she could spy my truthfulness in our bond, "and I will be back soon for you, to take you home – to our own home."

She canted her head, peering up the staircase again before letting out a small sigh and ambling in the same direction as her gaze.

Her tiny wisp of fear dissipated into emptiness, and I knew she had clamped off her side of the bond, locked me out. It was a level of control usually mastered only after hundreds of years as a vampire. But even after just a day, Sookie exhibited a restraint comparable to my own. She never ceased to surprise and amaze me, not when she was human but especially not now.

 _Already_ , she was a great vampire, made for this life.

Surely someday, she would see it too.

Once Sookie had reached the second floor balcony and disappeared out of sight, I turned back to a grimacing Eric to answer his brazen inquiry.

"I _EXPECT_ you to _leave her alone._ She does not _need_ to be attended to like an animal, or watched like a human child. She can _handle_ herself," I hissed out at him in Swedish, seeking to shield a possibly listening Sookie from the anger-laced contents of the conversation, "And under _no circumstances_ are you to take her to the Area Five court…"

Eric opened his mouth to protest, but I silenced him with a sharp slice of my tongue.

"I am _NOT_ taking her out from under one monarch's nose to risk putting her under another's! You are the local Sheriff; _you_ can check her into the Area yourself," He physically balked but brooked no audible argument, "She does not _need_ fucking politics! She needs _time_ – to accept what has happened, to come to grips with her new life. Do you _fucking_ understand?! Tell me you do, Eric!"

I stifled the urge to command him, thinking involuntarily on how poorly Sookie had responded to it the night before. The embers of my brushfire rage burned out as the memory whipped through me. The feeling of her defeat and despondency followed, washing over me as though it had never abated.

Had I ever caused my son to feel the way Sookie did?

Hopeless and alone, directionless?

I prayed quickly to my Gods I had not, but I could not rightly remember – things had been so different back then.

"It should only be for a month, two at most," I explained switching back to English, my tone low and belying my heavy thoughts, "Once the Queen accepts the rogue vampire in exchange for her hand, and the marriage contract between Texas and Louisiana is finalized – the second it is – I will come back for her. Please, broder, keep my dotter safe until then."

My son grumbled his acceptance, swapping his guttural noise for a clear and resounding "yes, broder" as I sighed uncharacteristically.

Using our maker-child bond, he sent me calm, and also resolve. I let it wash over me, let it upend the gloominess threatening to take root in my mind. Eric would do right by Sookie; I was sure of it. I smiled at my son and patted him on the arm, a rare display belying the love and gratitude shared between us. Then I _zipped_ up the stairs to bid a quick goodbye to my youngest progeny.

I knew if I did not leave her now, I probably never would.

* * *

There were no words exchanged regarding Sookie's absence upon my return to the Texas nest. The King simply nodded his acknowledgment, and retreated to his own quarters, as if nothing had changed at all. Something momentarily nagged at my mind, telling me that his acceptance of my progeny's relocation was a thing too good to be true. But I shrugged it away. Unlike Jameson, I was not so prone to such fantastical bouts of suspicion and mistrust.

I did not automatically assume that every action around me was likely a move in threat to me and mine.

Of course, in this particular case, I was wrong, so very wrong.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Three nights after I left Sookie in Louisiana, not long after the sun set, my feet padded rhythmically against the pavement walk surrounding White Rock Lake as I bounded along, submitting to a phantom appointment it felt iniquitous to miss. Tonight was the weeknight I usually ran with Sookie, a ritual honored for almost four years – the only faltering in its cadence associated with her short vacation to New Orleans.

 _The Trip_ – I thought, terming it as such in my mind.

It had irreversibly changed the trajectories of both our lives.

I did not regret many things in my two thousand years, unwilling and unable to waste energies second-guessing decisions that could not be taken back. But I regretted the events surrounding Sookie's turning, specifically those leading up to it – the absence of an explanation, not offering her a choice. There was little I could recall from my mortal days – glimpses and smells mostly comprising the meager contents of my memory bank. But I _did_ remember that I had chosen to be turned vampire, to walk alongside my maker.

I had _not_ been turned against my will.

Unlike my dotter, I had been given the chance to decline the gift of immortality.

I simply chose not to.

Of course, I had not fully gleaned what I had accepted until my maker lunged for my throat, clutching me against his chest as he drew the life out of me. Pull after pull, he divested me of my blood until I gasped for breaths that would not come, and I convulsed in his mud-smeared arms. Then he shoved a wet wrist against my chapped and twitching lips, bidding me to drink. I could still remember how strangely melodic his voice sounded – the first and only time he adopted a soft and pleasant tone.

The rest of that night, and even the next few years, blurred together in my memory, like mixed colors of clay – refusing to untangle or separate.

It had all happened so long ago.

"On your left," I called out as I approached a group of walkers, following the rules of sidewalk etiquette Sookie had taught me.

The ambling herd shuffled over to the right edge, and I passed by them with ease.

I continued to jog at a human clip, imagining I had Sookie at my side, flush with color and laughing – still filled to the brim with life. I smiled as the picture flashed through my mind, swearing to myself I would help put the light back in her eyes. I _needed_ her to be okay. Without her, I was sure I would be thrust back into my former malaise, that the world would readopt a sickening shade of gray.

I knew inherently I would not be so lucky to survive the fatalistic feelings that followed twice.

I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of my shoes slapping against the path and feeling the humid breeze whip past my skin, combing through my short hair. I let the sensations wash over me and still my troubled thoughts. The warm night air pressing at my tunic brought the promise of a sweltering, oppressively hot summer. Unaffected by temperature, summer was a season that usually came and went without grabbing my attention, but this year even the hint of it on the horizon tugged at me. Because by time summer receded like a heated blanket lifted off the Texas landscape, Sookie and I would be halfway across the world – travelling.

She _had_ been promised a trip to Europe, and I _had_ offered to act as her tour guide.

Perhaps another change of scenery would do her some good.

Because according to Eric, her three nights in Louisiana had not.

I desperately wanted to introduce a sense of normality back into Sookie's life, show her that very little needed to change. That barring her inability to walk in the sunlight or to shuttle herself back and forth to a school she had once admitted she found exhausting, that her life – as she knew it – would remain _mostly_ the same. Although, honestly I could not even pretend to grasp what her human life had been like. We had not been all that close. Her outbursts had shown me there was much I did not know about her, about her day-to-day ministrations.

She was so tight-lipped, private about personal things – even more than the oldest among vampires.

I laughed inwardly – sardonically – I _had_ always considered her to be my _strange_ fairy friend.

Trying to figure Sookie out was like trying to piece together a puzzle without the picture on the box. Sure, I could connect the dots when the grooves lined up, but otherwise? I was completely lost, and _struggling_ to understand her, to determine what in her history had led to her suicide attempt. She had tried to shuck off her mortal coil like it was a soiled jacket, inconsequential – meaningless – and it perplexed me.

"HEY! Slow down for a sec!"

My musings were interrupted as an unfamiliar voice broke through the hazy, tepid air and the sound of shoed steps joined mine on the trail. My eyes snapped open, and I glanced behind me cursorily, noting a human female of about Sookie's mortal age bounding up behind me. I did not slow my gait, sure I was not her intended audience. When the voice came again – " _HEY_! EZRA, STOP! PLEASE!" – I turned, understanding it was the young woman's intent – and unwilling to ignore her entirely.

Especially since she knew my name.

She would have to be glamoured to forget it.

"You're… Addy's… friend… Ezra… aren't… you?"

The encroacher panted out, hands on her knees as she staved off what appeared to be an episode of some sort. I awkwardly stood a few feet from her, uncertain how to proceed. Was there something I was supposed to do, as part of an expected etiquette ritual? Even though I had spent ample time around Sookie, I did not rightly know.

She had never experienced this particular breathing ailment in my company.

"Yes, she was my friend."

I answered, pleased with myself that I remembered to utilize the past tensed verb.

"I'm… okay. I'm okay," she assured me as she steeled her breath, not bothering to check my expression, which was expectedly vacant, "Sorry, I'm not much of a runner, ya know? Addy said you guys came here so much I figured I might find you here, if I stalked around long enough. You heard she's missing, right?"

"I was told she has passed on, that she was _murdered_ ," I whispered in response, tamping down my surprise that the human before me believed otherwise, "the news reports said she was a victim of some man dubbed the Bezerker."

"Oh, that's all just a bunch of horse pucky, if you ask me – smoke and fuggin' mirrors," She laughed unaffectedly, then spoke again before thrusting out a hand, "Geez I'm so rude. Umm… hi… I'm Katie – Addy's best friend. We've never met, but I've seen you a bunch of times, walking Addy home at night. Your tattoos and all, make you pretty noticeable – at least in our neighborhood… I live in the house right next door to the Hardings, or I guess I did since they're…"

Her brow furrowed as she chewed on her words, letting them die in her throat.

She looked down at her extended arm, hanging between us, and then back into my eyes. I took the opportunity to catch her in my glamour, eager to resume my meditative run – and the smallest bit intrigued by her odd assertion that Sookie, despite all evidence to the contrary, had not met her end at all.

"You should follow me over here, Katie. So we can talk privately."

"Talk… privately."

She parroted back glassy-eyed as she ambled behind me off of the trail, behind some foliage and near the water's edge – out of sight.

Before removing all semblances of myself, and my friendship with Sookie, from her mind, I questioned this Katie, but she proved to be most frustrating under glamour. Later, I would realize it was likely she had experienced it before. Unable to elaborate, she simply repeated over and over that some human group, governmental with an initialed name she could not recall, had an interest in Sookie. One she herself found very intriguing – even if she could not fully explain why. But apparently the appearance of a clipboard carrying set of agents had thrown her mind into overdrive, and she had convinced herself that Sookie was part of some witness protection program.

Her delusion bordered on unhealthy, and I imagined Sookie would be pleased I divested her of it.

At least I hoped so.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

Marital contract negotiations had all but stalemated at the three week mark.

The King had been demanding much more in exchange for the rogue vampire than the Queen of Louisiana was willing to give. Recently, my nights had been consumed by mediating on Jameson's behalf petty squabbles over pithy things. Tiny minutia details that somehow mattered immensely to both Aaron and Sophie Anne had quickly become the bane of my undead existence.

Each monarch was pitted against the other in a veritable battle of wills.

Part of me inwardly hoped that neither would survive the skirmish.

"Now, if you will refer to the amended terms on page sixty-four, section three, line twelve," Sophie Anne's lawyer Desmond Cataliades said, pausing to flip both copies – his and mine – of the draft agreement to the indicated page by way of a peninsular yellow tag, "Now here," another pause, accompanied by a finger pressed to the page, "the Queen makes it quite clear that cohabitation will _not_ be accommodated. I know that your King…"

"Will be quite displeased..." I interrupted, slowly swiveling my black leather chair away from the conference room's mahogany table before calmly rising to my feet, "We will break now; I must make a call."

To Desmond's credit, despite the flinch that accompanied his tight-lipped frown, the demon brooked no immediate argument.

Although, it would not have been of consequence if he had.

 _Nothing_ was going to stop me from placing that call.

Not minutes prior, I had been utterly distracted, practically swallowed by a tidal wave of emotions that trembled across the maker-child bonds between myself and my children. Eric's had vibrated with a red-hot anger that subsequently boiled my blood, and ignited my beast. While he normally blocked me from his few moments of near bloodlust, this time it pummeled against my mind almost intentionally, like he was trying to sound the alarm and alert me to something.

That _something_ was not hard to ascertain.

Sookie's bond had pulsed wildly with a fear and anxiety unlike anything I had ever experienced before. My mind raced with possibilities immediately. Then there was nothing, emptiness. Apparently, it had taken her no time, around twelve seconds to be exact, to remember I had access to her feelings, to sense my curiosity and concern bounding back across our small bond.

Then she surreptitiously shut me back out.

Like she always did.

I wanted to be amazed by the control she exerted over her emotions, over the bond. She was amazing, and controlled – _so_ controlled. But in truth, the silence that persisted in that moment terrified me more than her previous apprehension had. It consumed me, wrought me inside out. Despite my feigned focus on the task at hand – negotiating the King's marital contract – I was temporarily useless, unable to focus my thoughts on anything else.

 _What_ had happened to her, to Eric?

And _why_ did she want to shield whatever it was from me?

While Eric had assured me that little had changed in regards to Sookie's fatalistic state, it was a lie I let pass without complaint. From the few feelings that trickled across our small bond, I could tell that she was improving, shuffling off her depressive coil. Occasionally during the past two weeks, I had even been blessed by momentary swells of unfiltered happiness. Even though such times were fleeting and ephemeral – intangible at best – but I knew I would be remiss to ignore their meaning. She was getting _better_ , becoming herself again. I did not know what my son had done to stoke the first embers of light within her, but I was not keen to look a gift horse in the mouth, as Sookie would have said.

It was another step in the right direction, one clearly planted on solid ground.

Or so I had thought, until their disturbing feelings threw my mind for a veritable loop.

While the demon had droned on – my face denying none of my distress – I tamped down the overwhelming urge to vamp out the door. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to do that very thing, but I remained seated instead – my demeanor cool and collected. I had been lucky Desmond broached this particular subject when he did. Its contentious nature allowed me to extricate myself from the proceedings without garnering unwanted and unwelcome attentions.

My personal, and pressing, business was mine, and mine alone.

"A short recess might do us both some good," Desmond responded to my statement in his gravelly tone, removing his black-rimmed reading spectacles in one swift gesture to wipe at nonexistent smudges, "There is a telephone room just across the hall," he pointed with an open-faced palm to the door, his eyes flicking there and then slowly back to me, "It is sound proof, I assure you – for client use _exclusively_."

I nodded once as I exited the room, moving at a maddeningly human clip into the indicated space only a few feet away.

 _Just in case_ any of Desmond's human staff was still around.

After shuffling in and locking the heavy, foam-filled door behind me, I rested my head against the wall, listening for interlopers or eavesdroppers. Despite the late hour and the lawyer's explicit promise of privacy, I refused to entrust my safety to others. It was a practice that had kept me alive for thousands of years, and one I had no intentions to quit.

A vampire could only rely on himself and the children he made.

But even then, trust could not be doled out blindly, not completely at least.

I waited several seconds to see if even the smallest sound would register, such as the soft padding shoes against the carpeted hallway or the gentle buzz associated most often with listening devices. But there was nothing; the walls truly were inches thick, impenetrable. Satisfied, I drew my own calling device from my pocket, aware a recorder in the demon's landline phone could still be imperceptible, even to my supernatural senses.

I was taking no chances.

With a speed that risked cracking the numbered buttons of the cellular, I dialed my son's number. I bit viciously at the inside of my cheek, blood temporarily coating my mouth, as the speaker blared its ringing tone in my ear.

Not once, but twice.

Thankfully, not a third time.

"She is fine," Eric clipped out in Swedish, "I am..."

"You have said that before!"

I growled back in my son's native dialect, unpacified – mindedly irate - by his reassurance.

He could not deny the veracity of my accusation. He had told me once he had a close eye on Sookie, when in truth he did not – and for his folly, she had been stabbed in the streets of Louisiana. The catalytic nature of the moment had sent us bounding down this fateful path. We had all suffered as a result, and I feared the potential consequences associated with a second wrong turn.

"Ugh! Again with the freaking tongues!"

I heard Sookie huff exasperatedly, the utterance distant and likely directed at Eric in particular.

Her voice, even though tinged by irritation, danced through me like the vibrative pluck of a harps string. It calmed me instantly, restoring the iota of control that had threatened to run rampant. My beast stilled, receding into its dark corner as if blasted away by light.

Perhaps my dotter had still retained some of her fairy wiles.

I could not help but wonder what other gifts she possessed.

" _What_ happened?"

I implored my broder, my words in continued translation to obviate them from Sookie's ears. It _was_ her business – involved her – but I did not want to alarm her. She was getting better, accepting this life – or she _was._ Then she was terrified, and I feared her happiness had likely been a casualty. It was improbable, but I felt…

I could not form even the pretense of syllables to encapsulate what I had felt.

"Fader," Eric cautioned, "It appeared to be nothing of consequence," his use of _appeared_ deliberate and fraught with meaning, "merely pleasantries exchanged with the monarch of your state," again, careful not to use pronouns, names that could not be hidden by our use of the Swedish language, "but he _very_ much enjoyed being in her company, seeing her..."

"I understand."

And I did.

But before I could muse on it, I heard Sookie's melodic voice, my ears straining and struggling to pick up her whispers.

"Eric'll... psst... psst... home, Alcide."

 _Who was Alcide?_

"Fucking werewolf."

Eric offered before I had a chance to ask.

I considered momentarily – as a flash of something not unlike jealousy erupted like a single firework in our bond – that his utterance may have been more involuntary than explanatory. But I shrugged it off. While congenial with the Were clans, vampires did not often consort with the furry moondogs. But it was not unheard of, simply frowned upon.

I should have been wondering _how_ and _where_ my dotter met the wolf, but instead I asked...

" _When_ did they meet?"

Finally linking several disconnected pieces of information, I saw perhaps a bit of the Sookie puzzle that had been obscured from me.

"Two weeks," he grumbled, "they met two weeks ago."

 _Ahhh_ – I thought – _the source of the bright spots._

I pursued this particular line of questioning no further. Sookie's romantic entanglements meant little to me if it made her happy. Wolf or not. Plus, I had bigger fish to fry, as she would have said. I visibly shook my head, knowing I had no audience – even in Desmond's windowless telephone room. I could not believe how much her idiomatic lessons had stuck with me, had become part of my internal dialogues.

She had not tamed me, but I flourished nonetheless because of her presence.

She was something akin to the sun and I had been reborn – _again_ – basked in the warmth of her light.

But I was still vampire, and my child had been threatened by the King. Intentionally, unintentionally – those were just words. She had been targeted all the same, and I protected my kin as I protected my life – fiercely and with passion. Like Sookie's reaction when she rebuked Jeremy at the six-flagged rollercoaster park, I was loyal to _me and mine_. But in this case, there was no human boy to glamour to stay away.

There was only a vampire king to reduce to ashes.

It was different, but also the same.

Jameson had crossed an invisible line, breached an unspoken rule among vampires. _Do not mess with what is not yours_. I refused to let his transgression pass. While it seemed innocent enough, his actions were an affront, a challenge to my strength. He had stalked my child to Louisiana, with his incomprehensible obsession in tow, and approached her with intents to do harm – her fear proof-positive of his mal-intentions. Jameson could _claim_ otherwise but I had been around two thousand years.

Unlike a smattering of my peers, I was not an easily-made fool.

I hung up with my son not long afterwards – few words exchanged between us.

What was there to say? I had other things on my mind – like how to orchestrate the end of a lecherous King.

* * *

"The aforementioned term is acceptable," I stated, without the slightest bit of the thunder in my veins rumbling in my tone, "but only if your Queen will agree to be financially responsible for separate lodgings instead."

Desmond narrowed his eyes at me, aware of the concessionary powers he possessed.

Which, as I knew – _for certain –_ were none.

A trap – prolonging the contractual arbitrations – it was nothing more than a trap.

"Then we have reached yet another impasse it seems," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his face screwed in a tight scowl, "perhaps it is time to retire for the night. I will need time to regroup with Queen Sophie-Anne, share your King's latest demands."

"My assistant Sabine will be in touch." I stated apathetically, unsurprised to see an assenting nod of the demon's head.

I was merely buying time; I did not really care when we reconvened.

Because, in a few weeks, none of this would matter anyway.

* * *

 _A/N: By the way, if you've never put a puzzle together without the box, it's actually a lot of fun._

 _Everybody ready for some Eric/Sookie time? Me too :)_


	11. A Place in this World – Taylor Swift

_A/N: OMG, I want to live in part of this chapter forever; literally I would've if I could've. You'll understand what I mean. Translations at the end._

 _Also, over 200 reviews! Yay and woo-hoo! Thanks y'all!_

 _Thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Some things were meant to be, and some things weren't.

Oftentimes, it was hard for me to tell the difference.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

 _Andrew's_ driving _very nearly_ had me yelling at him, ' _Eric, slow the hell down!_ '

It was a truly terrifying experience riding shotgun with him. But I didn't show even a hint of fear or weakness as he barreled around corners at break-neck speeds or tore down the moonlit highway like a bat outta hell. Instead, I pulled my legs up under my yellow dress and tilted my head against the window, towards the Louisiana sky.

The stars blurred like smeared paint as the car whipped through the night.

It was beautiful, and alluring; I _wanted_ to _be_ outside, part of nature.

My resolve to be a fake-happy liar liar pants on fire quavered after three minutes into our lengthy drive. Some things were much easier said than done. I just couldn't follow-through, be as manipulative and awful as Henry had been. Let everyone think I was something I wasn't. But that didn't mean I wasn't willing to try to grab at real happiness. I deserved at least that, right?

Progress – small baby steps in the right direction.

So I found myself pressing down the button to lower the window before I could even think to stop myself.

My hand practically flew outside to dance in the air that tore sharply against my skin. I almost couldn't remember the last time I'd done this – let my guard down, let myself do something just because it felt good. Except that I could, the memory of Henry's admonishment charging through my head like a bull in a china shop.

 _Pull up the fucking window, Addy! You'll lose your damn hand, and then no one will ever want you!_

 _NO ONE!_

I snatched my hand back inside automatically, shoving it into my lap as icy cold tears kissed at the corners of my eyes. Bloody tears… the kind that couldn't be hidden. I bit them back. With a flick of the button, the window was closed, my indulgent display over.

Pinhole bright spots.

Maybe those were all I had anymore.

I knew my vampire body would self-heal, but I wasn't sure whether or not growing back a hand was a thing – and I didn't wanna find out the hard way. So I slipped my legs back down and placed my hands in my lap, staring forward – as if into oblivion. Light speckled and refracted off the dead bug bodies clinging to the windshield, but I barely saw them. My attentions were elsewhere. The painted stripes on the road were burning into my mind, capturing and demanding my focus.

Suddenly, the honeyed vibratos of Kerry Muzzey's _The Architect_ wafted through the confined space.

The stringed orchestral notes brushed against my skin, cracking open my chest to settle within my soul.

When the piano's few tinklings joined the movement, I closed my eyes. Somehow classical music – this song in particular – had a way of simultaneously stirring up and stilling the quietness that resided inside me and rooted itself in my core. It pulled at my sadness like it was silly putty, stretching it apart until the sinews tore jaggedly and disappeared – an amorphous blob left in its wake.

It was as if, for the moment, I was simply a piece of malleable clay waiting to be reformed.

"Please play it again."

I requested, ignoring the subsequent stare that followed my softly spoken entreaty.

Ezra's son said nothing in response, but instead traded hands on the steering wheel to lightly press the skip back button, restarting the track. Then he turned his eyes back to the road, his thoughts an indiscernible mess. Whatever language that was, I apparently was going to need to learn it if I ever wanted to understand him – what was going on in his head.

His nuanced expressions were almost impossible to read.

But based on his reaction, I guessed that Pam hadn't told him I'd _already_ broken my uneasy silence. He'd been trying to get me to talk for days, surely she knew that. So _why_ hadn't she told him? I couldn't help but wonder what that tidbit meant, if it meant anything at all. Those two seemed close, thick as thieves, and I was just the outsider – a stowaway along for the ride.

Except that I'd been utterly and completely in their way, upending their torrid love affair.

I couldn't imagine Ezra's son having any romance that wasn't steamy – and _hot hot hot_. The man may as well have been chiseled from stone by the Gods. Of course, he and Pam were an item. Vampire Barbie _had_ to be the arm candy for Vampire Ken; it was like a rule of nature. They were freaking made for each other.

I imagined Pam's feigned interest in me had been constructed for the sole purpose of making me uncomfortable.

Mission. Accomplished.

"Thank you," I mumbled, grateful to hear the violins sing out from the speakers.

Then I peered out the car door window again, losing myself in hypnotic music. Rhythmically, I nodded my head – eyes closed – along with the beat. I tapped one-handedly at an invisible piano and glided my fingers through the air as if I was the conductor urging each sweet note from the expertly-crafted wooden instruments playing the tune. I didn't care that I wasn't alone in the car, under the watchful gaze of someone I didn't really trust. I _needed_ this moment, to get lost in my music.

It'd always been a safe haven for me, a world to disappear into.

When Henry would scream and raise hell – terrorize the house from whatever room he chose to destroy – I'd retreat to my own. Pressing my back against the locked door, as if it'd keep him out, I would slip my earbuds in to drown out his dragon-like roar. Ginny, back against the other door that led to the ensuite bathroom, would do the same.

 _Ginny._

 _Six days, four hours, twenty-three minutes, and two, three... four seconds._

I felt the cool drop dribble down my cheek – eyes still closed – as guilt washed through me, spiking through my nerves like I'd been tossed into a bathtub full of ice. _Well, that infinitesimal moment of respite had been nice while it lasted_. The melody crescendoed, filling the car and covering my small sniffles. As I steeled my unnecessarily quickened breath, something rough brushed up my face – beginning at my chin. I resisted the urge to flinch, or really jump outta my skin, as startled as I was by the unexpected contact.

The gesture was gentle and comforting, it just… confused me – Eric hated me.

So while I wanted to lean into his touch, I tipped my head away instead.

My eyes fluttered opened, glistening with what I knew would be blood, in time to spot Eric slowly drawing his thumb back towards himself. It was stained, an amorphous bead of red poised – as if expectantly – on the tip of the calloused pad. Scowling, he eyed the crimson blotch for maybe a millisecond – a glint of hunger perceptible despite his apparent irritation – before he wiped it against his midnight-colored dress pants. I scrunched up my face, the slightest bit disgusted.

"It was nothing."

The _Big Odd Bird_ grumbled through gritted teeth, clutching the wheel so hard I heard an unsatisfying _crunch_.

I wasn't sure if he was trying to blow off the weird blood moment or my 'thank you.' I figured it was the first, but acted like it was the second. I didn't need to be dealing with whatever his hang-ups were on top of mine. Plus, he'd drank my apparently _addicting_ fairy blood before – the asshole. Maybe he'd just been wondering if it still tasted the same.

 _Gross, Addy, that'd just be gross._

"Where are we going?"

I inquired, ignoring what had transpired, and _Drew's_ subsequently surly attitude, to feign interest in our destination.

The engine rumbled powerfully as we drifted hastily around another sharp corner. Tires squealing slightly, I inhaled deeply and smelled the burning rubber waft through the air conditioning system. The odor evoked feelings in me I couldn't ignore. Without even realizing it, my terror had twisted into exhilaration, and I wished I could be more than simply _along for the ride_.

I kinda wanted to drive.

 _Maybe someday_ – I sighed, doubting the speed demon to my left would ever oblige.

"You will see," Mister Leadfoot smirked, a slight smile curling at the corner of his ruddy lips, "We are very nearly there."

* * *

I spotted a structure on the horizon coming into view on the horizon. I tried to remain unaffected, after discerning instantly what the faraway outline was, but anticipation sizzled in my veins. The foreign feeling overtook me, replacing my heavy thoughts with an emotional response not unlike hope. I began to bob about like a kid hyped up on candy, trying to peer through the driver's side window.

Ezra's son was a big guy, and his head was definitely in the way.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to see if it would disappear. But it was still there, and, after the car veered off to the left, it looked like we were heading right for it. Surely this was all a figment of my imagination, this couldn't be real. But gosh, I wanted it to be. A childlike sense of wonder and excitement threatened to flood through me, but I held it at bay, reticent to embrace it. Because we were _not_ going there.

 _Were_ we?

 _No_ , I told myself, _quit being stupid; the_ vampire's _not taking you to an amusement park_.

The car's speed slowed to the posted limit as we turned again, this time onto a dirt path. Loose earth rattled through the tire treads, kicking up around us in the vehicle's wake. I watched as the outline of the structure, the Ferris wheel, disappeared behind the height of the bushy trees. My own excitement and glee dispersed in its absence, misted away into thin air.

That seemed about right.

Once again, I drew my legs up and into my chest, smoothing my dress over them. I propped my forehead up against the passenger-side window, but I didn't search the sky. Instead, I closed my eyes, and let the dark storm cloud in my mind envelope me. It whispered to me all the reasons I had earned my heartache, deserved my disappointment – _Ginny_. Ezra's son tried to say something – the noise catching my attentions – but my mind refused to process his words, occupied with other things.

I didn't even bother to open my eyes when the car lurched to a stop, our destination apparently upon us.

I heard a car door open, and shut, before mine was thrust open too, hot wind nipping at my extremities. Unexpectedly, _Drew_ leaned into the car, over me, and unlatched my seat belt. He swept his arms under me and pulled me from my seat, tugging me against his chest momentarily before settling me to the ground.

"Addy, we have arrived. Open your eyes."

"Oh. My. Gosh," I breathed out as I spotted the pulsing colored lights, the speakered tinny music infiltrating my ears, "Oh, Eric!"

As far as I was concerned, with this gesture, he'd earned his name back – at least until he started annoying me again.

I couldn't help but smile – a real one at that.

* * *

After Eric covered all his bases – don't bite humans, blah blah blah – he shepherded us towards the entrance. I smoothed at my yellow sundress and teased my hand nervously through my hair. If it could beat, my heart would have been going a hundred miles a minute. Pins and needles. It's not like I suddenly thought we were on a date or something but I'd never really considered that we were going somewhere with other people, somewhere public.

I guessed I'd expected to be tucked into a corner all night, watching Eric tend to business while I twiddled my thumbs or something.

"Hey. You lied to me – before I mean," I said, turning to Eric after he paid our admission fees, "There never was any business."

A small crowd of teenage girls about my age shuffled past us, gawking at Eric. He ignored their gazes, searching my cerulean blues with his own oceanic orbs. My heart clenched in my chest for a reason unlike the ones from the past week.

 _'Why the hell is someone as hot as him, hanging around her?!'_

Henry's voice laughed in my head, and I broke our suddenly awkward staring contest to examine the ground.

"Someone once told me," Eric stated, ghosting his fingers along the crook of my neck, "a lie does not count if it is for a good cause."

' _She still carries my mark_. _'_

His fingertips felt like ice, but sizzled all the same against my skin – little spindles of warmth coursing through me. I fought against the urge to shiver, flinching instead. Eric wrenched his hand back like I'd burned him. When I raised my head with a furrowed brow, he glowered at me, his thoughts angry-sounding.

 _'Jag borde inte röra henne! Hon är inte min!'_

Now things were starting feel normal again.

Eric's bizarre behavior concerned me, and while I had my emotionally-protective walls pulled up high, my telepathic shields were pushed down low. He hadn't done anything alarming – not really – but he was just being so weird and almost friendly, like he _cared_ about me. I wanted to trust it, but I also didn't – in equal measure.

 _Why did he bring me here anyways?_

What did he want from me?

I knew there had to be strings attached to this little outing. I didn't want there to be, but there were – there _had_ to be. Henry's tutelage had taught me that nobody was just _nice_ for the sake of being _nice_. The strings existed, no doubt in my mind; I just hadn't found them yet.

But I was definitely on the lookout.

Until then, I decided I'd also try to enjoy myself; it wasn't like I couldn't do both – right?

"Can we ride the Tilt-a-Whirl first?" I asked calmly, tamping down the eagerness threatening to spill into my tone, "Please? It'll be a lot of fun."

Because what could be more fun than getting slammed into someone as hot as Eric on the Tilt-a-Whirl?

Nothing, that's what.

* * *

 _'Fangers at a damn 'musement park. Now I've seen e'erything.'_

From his smell, I had guessed the man running the Tilt-a-Whirl might not be entirely human...

Confirmed.

"Jackson Herveaux."

Eric acknowledged, giving the carny man the slightest nod of his head and an apprising quirk of his eyebrow.

"Northman," The gruff man grumbled back, "didn't expect ta see yer _kind_ 'round here. What brings yer fancy pants 'ere t'night?"

The scruffy plaid-clad man crossed his arms, effectively blocking Eric from entering the platform. His stance was maybe meant to be intimidating, but he shook lightly from side to side. I wondered if it was from fear or alcohol. My mother Paige had more than once fought to hide her tremors after a heavy day of drinking.

Either way, we'd paid our tickets and I for one wanted to enjoy the ride.

"Oh, that's my fault, I suppose."

I offered amiably, setting out from behind Dark Tower, who'd basically been concealing me from view.

 _'Ain't she a pretty dead thing in that yello' sundress. Whadda shame.'_

"ALCIDE, SON!" He called out over his shoulder, "GOTTA FREE BUCKET?"

A muscled, dark-haired young man walked towards us from the platform, rubbing at his hands with a grease covered towel. I pegged him for about nineteen, maybe twenty – just a couple years older than I was. Of course, I was always gonna look seventeen; it was weird to think about sometimes. He eyed me up and down – his pupils darkening slightly – earning a low growl from Eric and a hard thump on his back from his dad.

"Alcide, put yer damn tongue back in yer mouth," Jackson spit out, backing away from Eric, who was glaring, "Can't mess wit what's 'lready claimed. Now, ya gotta damn open bucket or not, boy?"

I knew better than to break rank and balk at Jackson's impropriety, but I wanted to.

So freaking much.

"Sure, Pop!" his thick Mississippian accent distinguishable from a mile away, "Y'all follow me. I'll get y'all squared away."

Alcide swiped at the sweat beading on his brow and then jammed the dirty cloth into his back pocket. Turning on his heel, he headed back up the few steps to the platform. Eric gestured his arm out for me to go first, trailing closely behind me. His previously relaxed stance was gone, and a tight mask of indifference adorned his face. His demeanor had turned on a dime, and I realized he'd gone all business on me.

 _'Fucking dogs ruin everything.'_

Dogs?

I didn't know what _that_ was about, but I was definitely inclined to agree.

We didn't need the escort, but Alcide walked us all the way to the bucket anyway. Pressing at the metal bar to lock us in, he lingered, opening his mouth to ask for my number – if his thoughts weren't a lie – but he snapped it shut before a word passed his lips. _Smart_ _move_. Because if looks could have killed, Eric's grimace would certainly have put the boy into an early grave.

Like I had done to my sister.

 _Ginny_.

Had there been a funeral? Had I missed it? Was there a grave? Could I visit it? Questions spun together, weaving themselves into a sticky web in my mind. I was caught like a fly, waiting to be fed to the eight-legged arachnid that was my despondency.

Until the bucket lurched, and began to teeter in a chaotic motion.

The movement wrenched me out of my mind, and threw me back into the moonlit night. In seconds, the bench-seated cup bounded about the track, spinning wildly like a top. I squealed in delight as I swayed back and forth, grazing the side of Eric's body every time the centrifugal force pushed me into his personal space. He gritted his teeth, and honestly I wasn't sure if he was enjoying himself or being surly.

I hoped it was the former, but figured it was the latter.

Gripped suddenly by an ominous feeling, I wondered if I'd crossed a line. I knew he and Pam were a thing, and yet I'd practically forced him into what was probably a very awkward situation. Maybe vampires weren't monogamous, I didn't know one way or the other, but Eric _lived_ with Pam. _Only_ Pam. Even Ezra didn't do that. So it had to mean something.

Mere seconds later, his thoughts pretty much confirmed it did.

' _Pam will surely give me hell for this. She will be insufferable once she finds out what I have done.'_

His thoughts unwittingly set my guilt ablaze.

Not that we had done anything wrong.

Out of nowhere, Eric jostled into me, his hands settling on my waist and pulling me back, flush against his chest. He squeezed lightly at my hips, his grip gentle but firm. This time I didn't move away. A warm tingle settled in my core, and a feeling not unlike a sedative flooded my veins. I swore for a brief second he nuzzled his face against my hair and inhaled deeply. I didn't mind because I'd done something similar – he smelled like the winter and the sea. He feathered his lips across the scar on my neck, and then it was over. I was back across the cab as if nothing had transpired between us.

Electricity danced under my skin in the wake of his touch, his kiss.

So distance was probably for the best.

' _Vad är fel med dig?! Ta dig samman!_ '

Eric practically flew from the bucket when the ride stopped, the metal safety bar clanging loudly and a veritable smoke cloud tossed up in his wake. I moved much more slowly, but in fairness, I wasn't trying to get away from someone like he obviously was. Alcide sauntered over, wringing his hands through the black spotted rag again, when he spotted Eric disappear – pressing a phone that didn't ring to his ear.

"Sorry 'bout my dad, he's sorta an asshole."

"No worries," I replied, raising myself off the bench and to my feet, "I'm Addy, by the way."

"Alcide. Nice to meet you... He'll come around, ya know," Alcide offered, his bicep flexing in a direction that implied he wasn't talking about Jackson Herveaux, "til then, I'm in town a couple more weeks, ya wanna friend?"

I quirked a single eyebrow in response.

"Whoa, whoa," he scrambled, his composure faltering a bit. Then he whispered so quietly I knew only I could hear him, "nothing like that. I mean, you're hot and all, but I don't mess I with dead chicks. Something ooky 'bout it, no offense."

' _DAMN shame though, a DAMN shame.'_

I waved away his undeserved compliment, and also his explanation. I knew he hadn't meant it as an insult, and I wasn't keen to take it as one. Thing was, I didn't know if I wanted Eric to _come around._ I was confused, and exhausted, by our whole exchange in general.

But I needed to work through my own baggage before I could even think of unpacking his.

It would be nice to have an excuse to get out of the house, I mused. To take time to myself, away from Eric and Pam. To spend time with even just one person I wasn't vampire-related to. Even if that person was maybe a dog – but only sometimes, I guessed, since I'd met him outside a dog-like form.

I let loose a soft laugh.

I'd have to remember to ask Alcide about that later.

"Sure," I smiled, and he tossed me a scrap of paper I caught with ease, "That'd be great."

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"Going out with the dog again, sweet pea?"

Pam said, perched primly on a bar stool in the for-show-only kitchen, a wetted brush recoating her blood red nails.

"His _name_ ," I insisted, pulling the shoelaces on my neon pink sneakers taut, "is Alcide."

Still crouched, I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail, tying it off with a band. My hands trailed down my neck, pausing as they grazed the two small bumps tucked inside the crook of my neck. It felt like ages since I'd been in New Orleans, gutted in an alley begging Eric to turn me. But in truth, it'd been barely a month – only three weeks, if I didn't count my time spent under the soil, turning.

Which I didn't.

"Ska du följa henne igen?" Pam laughed, addressing Eric as he brushed past us both to pull a bag of blood from the fridge, "Låt vargen hålla henne säker."

"Håll käften, Pam," He growled back, slamming the door shut, "Du vet att jag har affärer. Jag ska skicka Thalia."

Those two always spoke in tongues when they wanted to cut me outta the conversation.

It used to be maddening, but after the carnival a couple weeks ago, I found myself grateful for the reprieve.

"I'm going, I'm going," I grumbled lowly, standing to turn on my heel, "I'll be back sometime later. I've got my key."

I patted at the waist pack under my grey nylon tank top, double-checking for all the essentials – including the flip phone Eric had recently bought me.

It was there too.

"Sookie," Eric warned, earning him a sharp glare and a defiant stance consisting of a hand on my hip, "do not bring the stench of dog into this house again. It is nearly impossible to remove."

Once! One time, I'd hugged Alcide after a particularly exhilarating run, and I'd caught hell from Eric since.

I was never going to live that down.

"It's his last night in town, so I promise nothing, _Drew_."

I teased, chiding myself almost instantly for sounding more flirty than petulant.

"Ha!"

Pam exclaimed, as Eric glowered – his thoughts teeming with I'd come to understand were expletives.

I'd managed to learn those words pretty quick, as much as I'd heard them over the past couple of weeks.

"You know, maybe you two should take this time to get _reacquainted_ ," I finger-quoted, hoping they'd catch my drift and I wouldn't need to say it more plainly, "with one another."

Pam quirked a knowing eyebrow, and I breathed an unnecessary sigh of relief.

Although it pained me to some extent, I'd been trying to push Pam and Eric together, in my own way, since the night spent at the amusement park. Nothing had happened between me and Eric – not really, and definitely not considering how apathetic he'd acted towards me every day since. But I felt guilty all the same. He'd been all business, avoiding me at all costs and only entering a room if it was already occupied by Pam and myself first.

And even then, he usually seemed pretty grumpy about it.

Like someone had gone and poked the Vampire Sheriff bear.

' _What the fuck is she talking about?_ '

I heard Eric think as I jogged out the door, Pam's uproarious laughter echoing through the house.

* * *

Keeping a defensibly human-looking pace, I headed towards the Twelve Mile Bayou, to meet Alcide in the swampy woods. It wasn't exactly the ideal terrain for running, but the tree cover allowed the two of us to let loose without fear of exposure. I hadn't completely embraced my vampiric nature, but I couldn't deny how invigorating it felt to blur through the forest with the wind nipping at my heels.

 _Better the wind than Alcide._

I joked internally, as I reached the end of the concrete street and disappeared into the woods.

I was really gonna miss Alcide once the carnival moved on. He'd been a good friend, but more so an irrefutably valuable resource. Unlike Ezra or Eric, he'd give me a much-needed education when it came to the supernatural world. For one thing, I'd learned the hard way that werewolves weren't too keen on being referred to as 'dogs.'

I'd almost died – again – of embarrassment in that moment.

I hadn't realized it was an insult.

Of course, my vampire family hadn't really told me much of anything, about _anything_. Heck, the very little I knew about vampires could barely fill into a pamphlet, and not even a tri-fold one. I'd asked Alcide if he could help fill in any blanks, but he'd admitted – sheepishly – that our two races didn't really mix. Vampires didn't really _mingle_ with anyone, according to him. That in itself elucidated a lot of things for me.

Vampires were _those_ kind of people.

Harding-like.

I could work with that.

Once I reached the small clearing – our designated meeting spot – I felt a mental signature brush up against my telepathic net. Someone was near. I dropped my shields entirely, to scan for thoughts – expecting to find Alcide, or possibly Eric. I knew he'd been shadowing me on the nights I went out with Alcide. I figured it was just Ezra playing puppet-master, requiring Eric to follow me.

I wouldn't have put it past him.

I didn't hear anyone – at all. Whoever it was had vanished into thin air, or at least gone out of range. So it couldn't have been Alcide or Eric. Alcide, because I was meeting him out here, and Eric, because... he wouldn't just leave me, not by myself. I didn't dwell on it further at the time. But mostly because I got distracted.

 _Buzzzz_.

Something vibrated against my stomach, and for more than a second confusion swept through me. It felt like my nerves were acutely twitching against the scar on my stomach. But that was impossible. _What the hell was that?_

 _Buzzzz._

 _Oh, the phone –_ I realized, swiftly lifting my shirt to tug at the zippered pouch.

Flipping it open, I stared at the screen, still unsure of how to engage the call. I'd never had one of these before, and even though I'd had it for almost two weeks, I'd never received a call. Plus, the manual had been decidedly unhelpful, mostly because Pam had ripped it to shreds.

 _"Figure it out, sweet pea," she had said, grinning wickedly._

Alcide's voice rang out from my hand.

"Adds? Hey, Adds? Addy?"

Well, at least now I knew how to answer it.

"Alcide?" I said, lifting the speaker to my ear, "What's going on? Where are you?"

"Adds," his voice was shaky, breaking in a way that indicated he'd been crying. His southern drawl was more pronounced than ever, "it's my pop. Some damn fanger 'ttacked 'im. I found 'im by the Tilt-a-Whirl with two holes the size of Texas in his neck, left fer fuckin' dead."

I tamped down my shock. I couldn't believe Jackson had been hurt, by one of my kind no less. But I'd also never heard Alcide use the "F" word, out loud or otherwise.

Either of them.

"Oh, Alcide, I'm so sorry! Tell me where you are, I think I can help."

But of course I wasn't sure.

I knew my blood had healing properties. I wasn't sure whether or not it would work on werewolves. But I was willing to give it a go, if Jackson was. He didn't care much for me – because I was a _fanger_ – but maybe this would get him to change his mind.

"Nah, Adds, got a supe doc 'ere doin' stuff. Ludwig's real good, the best. Thanks though. But, uh, can ya do somethin' else 'stead fer me?"

He sounded hesitant, like he expected me to refuse him outright. I wondered where his uncertainty was coming from. We _were_ friends. I mean, I wouldn't cut off an arm for him, but I doubted that's what he would be asking me for.

"Can ya get Northman on this? Put in the report with the Sheriff, I mean. I need to stay with my pop, but someone's gotta go after that fuckin' fanger," his tone became angry and impassioned, "It's his fuckin' job to keep shit like this from happenin'!"

Selfishly, I wished he'd asked me for an arm.

I really didn't wanna deal with Sheriff Eric Northman – that guy had been a real tool lately.

 _"_ Sure, Alcide. Yes, _of course_ ," I corrected myself, remembering how much Henry hated the word 'sure,' "I'll take care of it. Eric'll find whoever did this, Alcide; I promise."

Without even a click, the line disconnected, and I knew he'd hung up on me. I sighed unnecessarily, flipping the phone closed and then back open. I stared at the touchpad, not really sure how to proceed. No one was ever gonna accuse me of being _tech savvy,_ it seemed _._ Eric had told me he'd programmed his number into my speed dial, which was accessible from... somewhere.

Now I just had to find it.

I swore the next time I saw Pam, I was gonna slap that damn smile off her face.

* * *

"Why would you bring her here!?"

Sheriff Northman hissed lowly at the scary little vampire called Thalia as she dragged me unceremoniously, but not kicking and screaming, into a spartanly furnished room.

He was seated in a red-velvet upholstered throne upon a makeshift stage, elbows cocked with his fingers steepled. He looked so official, and business-like. I knew without a doubt his demeanor would be detached and cold just like the space he occupied.

I bet this was where he conducted vampire business.

I hated it instantly – all of it.

"Dog cancel. She want you."

She ground out through gritted teeth, an angry glint perceptible in her eyes, obviously uncomfortable explaining herself in English – or maybe even at all.

But the way she said it sounded so wrong – _so wrong_.

"Jackson, Alcide's dad, was attacked by a vampire," I spit out quickly, hoping to clarify Thalia's ill-phrased statement. I grimaced slightly as she curled her fingers even tighter around my forearm, a warning in her gesture I failed to heed, "I tried to call – I did –but you didn't pick up."

I'd been so angry he ignored me that I'd thrown my phone against a tree trunk and almost broken it.

But this seemed neither the time, nor the place, to bring that up.

In truth, I wasn't entirely sure where exactly I was. After I'd retrieved my phone from the mud and wiped it against my black running shorts, Thalia had descended upon me – almost instantly. She had knocked me to the ground from behind and straddled me – evoking images of the fairy man who'd choked the life from me. I'd screamed – practically howled, in fact – before everything went black.

Later when I came to, outside this building, she'd apologized – in her own sorta way.

 _"Not threat. I protect for Northman. Bring you to him," she had said, obviously a woman of few words. Then she had pressed her finger intently into her chest, introducing herself, "Thalia."_

Then she'd dragged me inside, before I'd managed to shake the strange feeling not unlike a restless sleep that had come over me.

"She is not supposed to be here!"

Eric growled as he leaned forwards – fingers curled like claws into the arms of the chair – his voice barely above a whisper but laced with barely caged fury.

"Thalia hide location from her."

 _'Break her neck, problem solved.'_

"I'm _fine_ ," I clipped out, feeling slightly irritated to discover Thalia had subdued me that way, but also that the Big Bad Sheriff was giving no credence to what I'd said, "I'm _here_ on official business – to put in a grievance with the _Sheriff_ on behalf of the werewolf Jackson Herveaux."

Eric narrowed his eyes at me, rising to his feet. His expression scared me, truly and without measure. I was in for it now. Thalia dropped her grip on my arm and stepped back from me.

Apparently we both thought so.

And I was, just not in the way we'd assumed.

"That Godric's child, Miss Harding, there with ya, Sheriff?"

The King of Texas called out from a place unknown. I felt a chill run down my spine, but visibly I didn't react to it. Hackles up, I threw my telepathic shields down, backing away from Eric and the stage to edge deftly towards the door. Eric's usually steeled expression slipped into confusion for a split second before his mask of indifference returned.

"It _is_!"

Jameson clapped, as he ambled into the room, a pleased smirk tugging at his lips.

 _'Definitely thought that sweet chick-a-dee there woulda been here sooner.'_

"Sheriff," King Whiskey boomed, turning to Eric after vamping to my side. He didn't touch me, but my skin crawled all the same, "give us a minute here then. To get _reacquainted_ , and such."

Eric may not have understood the euphemism before, but I figured he got it now.

"She is but a fledgling, still emotional and unpredictably violent, Aaron," Eric lied, "It is best if I remain, for _your_ protection. You understand, of course."

The Texas king laughed, throwing his head back.

"You're too much! I'm eight freakin' hundred years old – that baby vamp's there's no threat! Go on then, give us some space… Unless you got something else ya wanna say there, Sheriff Northman."

 _Eric and Ezra must be younger, and probably weaker, if_ this guy _is king –_ I thought despondently to myself.

I stiffened, donning a placid countenance refusing to let my fear shine in my eyes.

What choice did Eric have? The King was calling him out, he could go and risk me or stay and risk us both. I didn't blame him when he chose the former, walking casually out of the room with Thalia hot on his heels.

To some extent, I expected it.

But I prayed he wouldn't go far.

"You scared of me, Miss Harding?" Jameson purred, his voice laden with sexual undertones. He reached towards my neck, his fingers hovering over my skin, "Those scars there, so pristine – yeah, they are – compared to the holes I would've ripped into ya..."

 _'I'da torn you up like I did that fucking dog there.'_

I stifled the urge to yell out for Eric, knowing it would only make things worse.

And lead to questions I had no intents to answer.

"That sorta sounds like a threat though, doesn't it..." he mused languidly, not caring that his question had gone unanswered, "what happened to the fur ball there. Word of advice between us, it isn't real self-preserving to ignore those, ya know – warning shots, I mean. If I was you, I'd think about coming back to Texas, Miss Harding, then I'd betcha everyone close to ya'd be nice and safe again."

I stared forward, as my heart clenched violently in my chest and torrential panic flooded me. Jameson had almost killed Alcide's dad – because of me. Worse yet, if I didn't return to Texas, he'd essentially promised to go after everyone else around me – until I did. That much was crystal clear to me, even if I didn't understand the _why_ behind it.

As my mind swamped with guilt and terror, I felt a strange sliver of curiosity snake through me – _Ezra_ – and I tamped down on our bond violently, cutting it off without mercy.

"Yeah, I think ya are – scared of me," He continued, circling me like a shark as I rounded my arms against my stomach. I felt small; my body language inadvertently echoed the sentiment, "I'll tell ya a secret," He whispered from behind me, his hot breath brushing against the curve of my ear, "Ya should be."

 _'I don't intend to be even half as gentle with ya as Daddy Dearest.'_

King Whiskey laughed, stepping out from behind me to vamp to the seat Eric had previously held on the stage. He settled down, throwing his left leg over the arm while the other splayed out to the right. His head lolled back as he shimmied himself down.

He seemed to be getting awfully comfortable.

I was markedly the opposite, memories of Henry and his cruelties flitting through my head.

If the King bothered to say anything else, I didn't hear it – my ears unresponsive to noise, like they were stuffed with cotton. I couldn't say how long I stood there, still like a statue. I disconnected as the world disappeared from around me and melted into the background. I crawled into the recesses of my mind, and embraced the darkness I carried – that Henry had lit within me, Ginny's death had ignited into roaring, angry blaze.

A cold hand landed hard on my shoulder – tearing me back into reality.

I recoiled instantly, a yelp escaping from my throat before I could catch it – I wanted to appear scary, not scared. I spun around, fangs dropping automatically, and my hands clenched into fists. I was readied in all manners to strike.

But it wasn't the king.

"Addy, he is gone. You are safe. You are safe."

Eric soothed, his words sounding as if they were as much for his benefit as mine.

His oceanic blues flitted back and forth, searching my own cerulean orbs – concern awash in his expression. Then his hands reached cautiously upwards to cup my cheeks, and for the first time, I actually leaned into his touch. He brushed his thumbs lightly against my face, and I closed my eyes, savoring the gentle and comforting sensation.

"Are you okay?"

He whispered, pressing his forehead against mine; his hands dropped to my waist to idly finger at the hem of my grey tank top.

"No," I truthed solemnly, inexplicably hyperventilating as bloody tears streamed down my face in droves, "I'm really not."

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"Pop's doing real good, Adds. That Dr. Ludwig's a lifesaver – liter'lly," Alcide said, his voice sounding a little tinny through the phone's small speaker, "Northman having any luck findin' the sumbitch who did it?"

"Not yet, I don't think," I lied, knowing that I couldn't tell him his dad had been attacked by the Texas King, "But he doesn't really talk to me about work things."

 _Or at all, lately_ – I added in my head.

Things were tense at home, unsurprisingly.

In the past couple of weeks, Eric and Pam had barely spoken two words in English, effectively shutting me out of all conversations. Their thoughts helped me to fill in some blanks, but mostly I felt in the dark about what was going on. I'd never felt more left out, or lonely, in my entire life. And, to top it all off, now I _really was_ a prisoner in my Louisiana home.

I'd locked myself inside my room as a silent form of protest.

 _Thirty-six days, five hours, forty-three minutes and four, five, six seconds._

"Where are y'all now?"

I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from anything that would remind me of what happened with King Whiskey, or with Eric.

Not even minutes after _The Moment_ – as I'd come to refer to it – Eric had clammed up on me and turned back into Sheriff Northman. He didn't even bother to ask me what had happened with the Texas King, which had irritated me to no end. Didn't he want to know what had happened?! Jackson had been hurt because of me! I was racked with guilt, drowning in it. I'd even reached out, for the _first time in my entire life_ , and admitted I wasn't okay.

For what? I'd gone out on a limb for what? For what!?

For nothing _– NOTHING –_ that was what.

Thalia had explained later, in her own way, that she and Eric had been watching the whole exchange in his back office on hidden cameras. He'd seen everything, heard everything. So he didn't really need my version of events, she said in as few words as possible. If she had thought that revelation would calm me down, she was sorely mistaken.

If anything, it made me feel that much angrier.

He'd _watched_ the King threaten me – I'd been terrified, and he'd _let_ it happen!

I knew it wasn't fair to think that way, but I couldn't help it to some extent. After being alone in my own head for weeks, devoid of humanlike interaction – save a couple phone calls with Alcide – I was pretty much going crazy with grief… guilt… anger… I was a veritable cocktail of weighty, consuming emotions. I'd mulled over the scene with King Whiskey repeatedly, and every time it played out, I felt sicker with myself for just standing there, for shutting down.

I should have done something!

I didn't know _what_ – the King was older than dirt – but I'd been chiding myself all the same.

"Adds, ya there?"

Crap! I'd pretty much forgotten I was still on the phone.

"Yeah, Alcide. Just zoned out for a second there. What were you saying?"

"Like I was sayin'. 'm back in Miss'ssippi now. Prolly gonna hang here 'while too," Alcide repeated, triggering my guilt for a completely different reason, "Think ya could come visit? I mean, sometime. If ya wanna."

"I'd really love that, Alcide. Sounds great."

Guilt rang through me again; it was practically becoming routine.

Not because I'd lied to him, what I said was true – but because it just wasn't gonna ever happen.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

It'd been two weeks since my phone call with Alcide and a week since Eric left to join Ezra in Texas, when Pam attacked me. She'd screamed at me and tore at my hair, insisting that I was the real problem. I'd ruined their easy existence, and risked all of their lives. She told me my blood was poison – that I'd almost killed her maker back in New Orleans. Remembering how Eric had wiped my bloody tear against his pant leg, I wasn't hard-pressed to argue against her. I'd thought it strange at the time, but her words cast his actions into a new light, and suddenly his behavior made all the sense in the world.

In fact, everyone's did.

Here I'd thought they'd been treating me with kid gloves, moving gingerly around me because they assumed I would break, but no. Even without knowing about what had happened to Ginny, they knew. They knew I was a monster, a blight – a junkyard dog to be tip-toed around in an effort to avoid its bite. A mistake, just like Henry had told me every day of my entire life.

He was right.

 _Of course_ , he was right.

Had he ever been wrong?

I knew what I had to do. The only thing I could do. I had to make things right. To reset the clock, and release them all from their strange obligations to me. To jump out of fire and back into the frying pan. To sacrifice myself. So that at least for once – _for once_ – I could do something right. I didn't want anyone to risk their lives for me, or get hurt because of me. I wasn't worth it; I'd never been worth it. I would never be worth it.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I left for Texas, with intents to hand myself over to the King.

* * *

But I didn't get very far.

And when I came to, woozy and confused, I realized exactly where I'd fucked up:

I'd failed to account for the Thalia-factor.

* * *

 _A/N: Google Translations_

 _'Jag borde inte röra henne! Hon är inte min!' = 'I should not touch her! She is not mine! '_

' _Vad är fel med dig?! Ta dig samman!_ ' = 'What is wrong with you?! Pull yourself together!'

"Ska du följa henne igen?" = "Will you follow her again?"

"Låt vargen hålla henne säker." = "Let the wolf keep her safe."

"Håll käften, Pam… Du vet att jag har affärer. Jag ska skicka Thalia." = "Shut up, Pam. You know I have business. I will send Thalia."


	12. Truth – Seether

_A/N: Happy (almost) 1-year Fanfic-iversary to me! I've written/posted over 325k, which for context is about 700 pages of work. Thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

 _Warning: Explicit Language_

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Her absence was somehow more annoying than her presence, and I found myself listless and irritable – almost undeniably so.

My maker was inconsolable.

She was gone, and he yearned endlessly to be reunited with her.

Unfortunately – though I would never deign to admit it out loud – on some level, maybe I did too.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo**

* * *

I reopened the front door after Addy bounded away into the night – her neon pink sneakers disappearing at the edge of the woods – as her exiting words hung like a smoke cloud over my head. Training my eyes on her moon-kissed form, I watched until she slipped out of view. Then I turned to glare at Pam, whose laughter continued to echo so raucously out from our unused kitchen that the framed art in the foyer clacked noisily against the drywall.

"What the _fuck_ did she mean when she said we should become _reacquainted_ with one another?"

I gritted out as I slammed the ornately carved door – veritably testing the thick wood's resilience – my demanding tone laced with the characteristic anger I had crafted to obscure my altogether too vexing confusion.

"Oh _come on_ , Eric, you've _got_ to be kidding me!" Pam retorted from her perched position at the kitchen island, throwing her perfectly-manicured fingers spread-eagled into the air in exasperation, a mocking lilt in her accented timbre, "You only just noticed it _now_? That little freak of nature's been saying that sort of shit for weeks!"

"Pamela," I clipped out as I stormed towards her, the groaning planks and my voice carrying an unspoken warning my tempestuous child needed to wisely heed, "do _NOT_ refer to Godric's child as a _freak_ …"

"She fucking dreams, Eric. She fucking _dreams_! Tell me what the fuck is that, if not fucking freaky?!"

Pam interrupted, launching to her feet – knocking the bar stool down with a loud crash against the slate-tiled floor – as I swiftly strode across the space between us.

I was not hard-pressed to argue against her.

During her first week in Louisiana – when she had refused to speak – Addy _had_ often screamed and whimpered in her daysleep. The sounds had unnerved me each time upon rising; her grating and cacophonous shrieks muffled only by her – _always_ – dead-bolted door. Hearing her cry out during what should have been a deathlike sleep _was_ fucking freaky, as Pam had so eloquently put it.

It was also none of our damn business – Addy was Godric's child and problem, not Pam's and _certainly_ not mine.

But I was compelled to defend her all the same.

"Do _NOT_ overstep your bounds, _Pamela_!" I yelled, my fanged snarl mere inches from her placid countenance as I loomed over her, "As your maker, I command you never to speak of Godric's child in such a derogatory manner ever again!"

"Understood, Eric," she replied softly, a conciliatory mood overtaking her previously puckish attitude, her hands thrown up this time in admitted defeat – although my magical utterance had offered her no choice, "I just… don't like that she hurt you. She nearly _KILLED_ you!" _Ahhh… yes, the Fairy Blight._ How could I ever forget… especially since Pam would not let me, "And you… you couldn't care less!" The volume of her voice crescendoed to a distressed shout, "YOU TOOK HER TO THE CARNIVAL FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

"Pam," I soothed – calm dripping through our maker-child bond – as I drew her into my arms and pressed her against my chest. I outright ignored her exclamation regarding my humiliating outing with Addy almost two weeks ago, choosing instead to address her puerile fears, "you must stop begrudging the girl for what happened – this resentment hurts you, and you alone. She was dying, and I knew how much Godric wanted to keep her. The decision was my own."

Of course, I had never told Pam about the maker's command that I was to never harm Addy and that I was to protect her as he would – that I had been compelled to try to turn her.

I refused to pacify my progeny by disclosing I had not acted _wholly_ of my own accord.

"Do not fret so much over Addy," I whispered, pulling back to hook my finger under Pam's chin, bidding her to catch my resolute gaze, "Godric will be back for her in a week's time, and then we will fall back into our regular routines. Everything will go back to normal and it will be as if she was never here – you will see."

She nodded and quickly flicked away her burgeoning tears, pleased and calmed by my mollifying statement – evidenced by the upturned, broad smile replacing her previously rigid frown. Releasing herself from my arms, Pam practically pranced back over to the island counter, righting the fallen chair in one swift motion while humming a happy – presumably British – tune. After situating herself back down, she resumed wet-coating her blood-colored nails – staining them a deeper, opaque red. I stared blankly at the display, clamping down my side of our maker-child bond.

The reminder of Addy's impending departure had stirred an emotion within me I could not identify.

But it did not mirror Pam's apparent relief.

"Pam, _what_ has Addy been saying for weeks?"

I clipped out sharply as I reminded myself how this line of conversation had begun.

I knew I had decreased contact with Godric's child after the carnival – _fucking dogs ruining everything_ – but I was unwilling to believe Pam's claim I had been unobservant.

"Eric, sometimes you are just fucking obtuse," Pam chuckled, brazenly skirting the line of my patience with her attitude – something she was quite adept at, "she thinks that we're _together –_ that I'm your wife or something. When she said we should take this time to get _reacquainted with one another_ ," finger-quoting Addy's phrase as bubbling laughter erupted from her throat, inhibiting her ability to speak as articulately as she usually did, "She was… telling us that," the hiccup-like sniggers never waning, "while she was out… we should... _fuck_."

 _Addy_ wanted _Pam and I to…_

I caged the urge to let my jaw slacken or my mouth gape.

Reflexively, I placed my left hand on the granite counter by the sink, not to still myself, but to grip something I was unlikely to break. My right combed through my blonde hair, seemingly styling it, but in truth the gesture was intended to offer me some semblance of comfort. Because in truth, I felt shell-shocked, figuratively Pam's words had exploded like a bomb in my mind.

Even though I could not exactly pinpoint why they disturbed me so vehemently.

 _Ding-a-ling ding_!

The jingling tone I had assigned to all other Area Sheriffs rang through the space, breaking the heavy silence. Without delay, I pulled my phone from pocket and speedily read an email sent by Godric's second-turned Sheriff, Isabel. I was not surprised the message had not come from my maker; he had been tied up working on marital negotiations for weeks.

It consisted of one sentence – a heads up of sorts.

A warning.

I was out the door in seconds, launching into the Louisiana sky and towards the Area Five court. I shot off a quick text to Thalia regarding Addy as I whipped through the air, before silencing the device altogether. I knew the little warrior was following her, could keep her safe. In fact, I could think of nothing but Godric's child, her welfare balancing tenuously at the forefront of my mind.

Conversely, Thalia's tenuous grasp of the English language had not been.

That was where I slipped up.

* * *

I lounged back, slouching down on an ostentatious red velvet-covered throne – a purchase made at Pam's insistence – atop the small dais in the warehouse building where the Area Five court was held. My calm demeanor displayed a coolness and quietude that was usually achieved only after hundreds of years stalking the night. After a millennia, I had finely-tuned my _placid façade_ and become a master of my expressions.

Addy had literally accomplished the same in weeks.

She was an anomalous vampire.

"New Orleans is still quite a ways away. Is your future wife meeting you halfway?"

I asked evenly, as I casually inspected my nails and feigned boredom with the whole exchange, my tone all-business.

Although he may have expected some measure of stupefaction, I had not been shocked that the King of Texas had shown up in my Area unannounced – because I knew he was coming. Isabel's email had warned me he was likely on his way. She was not a fan of his, from what I could glean. Jameson had many enemies in Texas, at least compared to Godric.

Vampires tended to accrue more and more enemies with each passing decade.

Isabel could be counted among the King's it seemed.

Her treacherous forewarning had removed any element of surprise the protocol-avoiding King had hoped to gain. He had tried to subvert a well-established process – monarchs' official travel plans were generally released weeks, _if not months_ , in advance – but to no avail. That coupled with the fact that the Queen – a stickler for details – had released no plans to travel to Shreveport told me everything I needed to know.

Aaron's intents were indeed malicious and malcontented.

Godric had been right – the King wanted Addy.

For weeks, I had repeatedly mulled over the situation as I awaited the rise of the sun to pull me into my day death. The King's behavior was downright juvenile and reckless, completely unexpected for a vampire of his age. It irked me to no end. Why would Jameson risk losing not only his position as King, but his immortality for… _her_? Undeniably, Addy was appealing – she was exceptionally beautiful and fiercely independent – but she was also oppressively frustrating and downright perplexing. Like a fucking cryptogram without the key to decipher its concealed message.

Of course, none of those things seemingly bothered Godric; he accepted her peculiarities without question, without measure.

But she drove _me_ fucking crazy without even trying.

"No. I'm just passing through here," Jameson answered, his arms crossed over his blue-grey double-breasted jacket as he widened his stance – a laughable attempt at intimidation, "Had some personal business, ya know? Things ta take care of then, before heading into marital bliss there."

I nodded knowingly, having no fucking clue what he was talking about.

It was the vampire thing to do.

"Ya got that illustrious procurer 'round here tonight?" Aaron asked, scanning the spartanly furnished space as if the requested party was simply tucked away in the shadows somewhere – he was not, "Figure I outta meet the man's whose gonna be my chef de cuisine for the next hundred years... once all this contract shit gets finished up that is."

Of course, Bill Compton was _here_ ; he was just in the other room.

Ever since the Queen unceremoniously reassigned him to Area Five – the timing suspiciously aligned with Addy's turning – Bill was _always_ here.

"He is in the back, Aaron, glamouring the newest additions to our donor pool," I offered, vamping to my feet in a graceful motion that rivaled the most light-footed, to walk leisurely down the few stage steps, "and I am sure he is quite eager to meet you as well."

That was a bold-faced lie.

While Bill was usually quick to brown-nose – especially with vampire royalty – he surprisingly loathed the Texas King, almost to no end.

Jameson swept past me, his wing-tipped shoes padding heavily against the sealed hardwood floors – a necessary addition to the otherwise unassuming décor in event of a bloodbath – to head into the back room, my arm gestured out to lead the way. But I did not follow him to the office space. Instead I reclaimed my position on display, lounging back in my plush chair once more, and smiled wickedly to myself. Despite the potential for unnecessary chaos or crisis, I had everything in hand, and under control. There was no need to remain on edge, or deny myself the moment of peace I had so rightly earned.

Plus, Bill was about to blow a fucking gasket.

And there were few things more satisfying than fucking with Mr. Willy Compton.

* * *

"Why would you bring her here!?"

I whisper-yelled at Thalia, tamping down the urge to fly out of the showy red-velvet lined throne, as she dragged a slightly disheveled Addy into the Area Five court.

Despite my instant ire, I remained cool and collected – impassive – my elbows pressed against the arms of the chair and my fingers steepled almost painfully – but not noticeably. Now was not the time to break my steely façade or to tip my hand.

The Texas King was still here, and Addy therefore needed to be _elsewhere_.

For her own safety as much as mine.

"Dog cancel. She want you."

I stifled the snort that threatened to escape from my throat, an indignant huff caged on the tip of my tongue behind my gritted teeth. That girl did not _want_ me, or anything to do with me. She adored the time she spent alongside the dog, if her unbidden laughter or wide-reaching smiles were any indication.

Following her on her runs had been maddening – as well as telling.

"Jackson, Alcide's dad, was attacked by a vampire," Addy bit out almost instantly, as if to confirm my unspoken assertion. Her porcelain face twisted into a frown, and I spied Thalia's own countenance mirror a similar, but markedly more heated expression – her grip on Addy's arm tightening, likely in an effort to silence her. But now that the _irriterande lilla fairie_ was speaking again, it seemed she had no intents to stop – her tone light, but unmistakably bitter, "I tried to call – I did – but you didn't pick up."

 _Because you should_ not _have needed to call!_

I screamed internally, wanting to smack the little Greek vampire pinned to Addy's side.

"She is not supposed to be here!"

I snarled as I inclined forwards, still seated – involuntarily gripping the arms of my chair so tight my fingernails sunk into the carved wood – my tone hushed but unambiguously livid.

"Thalia hide location from her."

Suddenly, I remembered the obviously ill-phrased contents of my earlier text message – _Track Godric's child closely. Do not leave her alone, or reveal location. Threat imminent in the Area._

Oh, fucking hell.

"I'm fine," Addy hissed, as she attempted once again to shrug out of Thalia's grasp, the tail of her pulled-up hair grazing lightly over the two pebbled scars on her neck – _my_ mark, "I'm here on official business – to put in a grievance with the Sheriff on behalf of the werewolf Jackson Herveaux."

My eyes turned to black-pooled slits as I drank in her barely covered form – from the naked nape of her neck down to her altogether too-short shorts – and rose to my feet. My beast _begged_ me to take her – to scoop her into my arms, vamp into the night, and _strip_ away the bullshit pretense between us. I barely noticed when Thalia disappeared from Addy's side, and left her alone in my sights.

My vision was tunneled, focused too keenly on her as if everything else had been burned away by the near bloodlust fire in my veins.

 _Why could I not keep control of myself around her?!_

"That Godric's child, Miss Harding, there with ya, Sheriff?"

Though not yet visible, Jameson's voice echoed noisily against the rafters – shaking me from my heady and confusingly consuming thoughts. I regained my composure and my expression turned impassive once – my beast caged, at least for the time being. I watched as Addy took not one, but two steps away from the platform in the direction of the door outside. Her slow movements were deft and silent like the fabled church mouse – simultaneously guarded and fearless.

Despite her subversive efforts, I could still see she was plotting her escape – which meant the King would likely see it too.

But I felt proud of her for having the courage to even try.

"It is!"

Aaron clapped gleefully, as he sauntered into the room, his cheeks rosy and flush from feeding – a smug smirk threatening to erupt across his face.

He vamped to Addy's side, positioning himself so closely that he was _just barely_ not touching her alabaster skin, and I tamped down the urge to fly from the dais and attack him.

Now was not the time to be hot-headed and rash.

"Sheriff, give us a minute here then…" Jameson bellowed brashly, as he briefly stopped leering at her to address me, "To get _reacquainted_ , and such."

Pam's explanation of the euphemism behind the word _reacquainted_ flooded my mind, and outrage coursed fiercely through my blood.

Perhaps it _WAS close_ to the time to be reckless and act without abandon.

"She is but a fledgling," I truthed, "still emotional and unpredictably violent, Aaron," I lied, aware that Addy's markedly dispassionate, detached state had stunned me more than once, "It is best if I remain, for your protection. You understand, of course."

He threw his head back and roared, finding what I had said apparently hilarious.

Fucking asshole.

"You're too much! I'm eight freakin' hundred years old – that baby vamp's there's no threat! Go on then, give us some space… Unless you got something else ya wanna say there, Sheriff Northman."

There were many things I wanted to say – and do – but _every_ _single_ _one_ of them would complicate our lives – mine, Pam's, Godric's… Addy's – and upheave them without measure. So instead I nodded to Thalia, turned on my heel, and nonchalantly exited the space – leaving Godric's child in the presence of her enemy. I told myself I could watch and listen to their exchange from the other room. That I could still interject and save her in the event the King of Texas committed a blatant, unequivocal offense. If he gave me an indisputable cause to unseat him.

Until then, I would allow myself to fantasize about a regicide that may never come to pass.

It was the vampire thing to do.

* * *

The second – the _SECOND_ – I sauntered through the back office door of the court, I vamped through another doorway and into the room that housed Area Five's high-tech security station. The calloused pads of my fingers punched at the dials of each screen with such force that I cracked several buttons – little plastic flakes arcing through the air like fireworks. The live feed flickered onto the screens, and the red recording light began to blink.

I scrambled to ignite the sound of the tinny speakers, and listen in – my eyes and ears fixed on the unfolding scene.

 _"You scared of me, Miss Harding?"_

Jameson intoned, his voice dripping with an excitement that caused my fangs to itch underneath my gums – my beast clawing at me, eager for a fight.

The blood fizzled and jolted violently in my veins as I watched the fucking bastard king reach towards the crook of Addy's neck – towards _my marks_ – before halting his intrusion to roll his fingers through the air above pebbled scars marring her ivory-white skin. He said more, but my attentions had shut down – a possessiveness overcoming me. It whispered that I should rush to Addy and snatch her up bridal-style into my arms to launch us both into the night. To drink from her once more, feed her my essence, and _make her mine_. It mattered little that it was impossible.

I blinked slowly – my vision blurred red – closing my eyes for several seconds before opening them again, to push back the hasty, dangerous urge.

Thalia's sudden grip, her nails all but sinking into my flesh, also served to ground me once again.

 _"That sorta sounds like a threat though, doesn't it..._ _what happened to the fur ball there. Word of advice between us, it isn't real self-preserving to ignore those, ya know..."_

I heard Jameson ruminate slowly, before Compton so rudely interrupted the scene, sweeping into the small security room with a distracting _slam_ of the door behind him.

I fucking hated this vampire, more than words could express.

I often fantasized about killing Bill.

 _"Yeah, I think ya are – scared of me…I'll tell ya a secret…"_

"Oh my!" Bill exclaimed dejectedly in his exaggerated Southern drawl – his volume louder than speakered sounds, much to my ire – his grease-laden pointer finger pressing against the pixelated screen next to the image of Addy, who had begun to wrap her arms defensively around her waist, " _That_ is the injured girl from the alley in New Orleans! _She_ is your new sister?!"

I hated when people called her that; I had yet to determine why.

Other matters were more pressing

"You will regret it if you stick your nose where it is not wanted, _Bill_ ," I hissed with a challenging glower in my eyes and a rumbling growl in my throat, "but you can put it right up the King's ass – if it needs somewhere to go."

I turned my attentions back to the monitors, irritated – despite having the ability to replay the tapes later – that I had been momentarily distracted due to Compton's incessant chatter. Jameson was veritably breathing down Addy's neck, the sight of which stirred my beast once more. His ostentatious laughter that rang out – even through the thick walls, as he moseyed his way up the stage to plop down in my throne – threatened my resolve to maintain control and wait for an incontrovertible infraction.

"Enough is _enough!_ "

I thundered, ripping my arm from Thalia's grasp to vamp out of the room before either of its occupants could move to stop me.

I was by the King in seconds, my fangs drawn and dripping with saliva – itching for blood.

" _WHAT_ did you do to her?!"

I demanded at a raised volume, gesturing to Addy's motionless stance.

"Don't know what the fuck's wrong with her," Jameson said, denying any culpability for Addy's statue-like stance, as he shuffled down the stage steps – hands mockingly up in defeat – and towards the exit, "Here we were chatting like two consenting adults and all – and then she goes all catatonic and freaky on me. Mark my words, she's a whack-a-doo, that one there," He paused for a moment, his fingers curled like claws around the door jamb, "Best ya send her back to her maker 'fore anyone gets hurt."

I stifled the urge to call him out on his bullshit attempt to bring Addy's mental state into question.

But I had to admit the dead look in her eyes _was_ fucking eerie.

I approached Addy like one would a rabid dog, palms up and opened, stepping towards her slowly and with purpose. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused like a pale-faced china doll molded by a craftsman. She looked veritably inhuman, and incontrovertibly still and dead – even for one _actually_ among the undead. Her thoughts were obviously lost to the world – miles and miles away – as she hugged herself and muttered softly.

So quietly I could not hear her.

It was, for lack of a better term, upsetting.

After several attempts to capture Addy's attentions verbally, I grasped at her shoulder with intents to shake her away from whatever gripped her so tightly. She shrieked loudly, jumping from under my touch as if I had burned her. In a blur, she spun on her heel – her fangs clicking down with an audible _snick_ – and bared her teeth, hands balled into fists and raised for a fight.

 _There she was, min lilla krigare._

"Addy, he is gone. You are safe. You are safe."

I soothed with a gentleness I had not realized I possessed – my words not unlike a prayer thanking the Gods, and for her benefit almost as much as mine.

My normally steely countenance faltering, I searched her cerulean blues for signs of life – or at least consciousness. As her gaze refocused – grabbing mine – I reached my hands timidly towards her face and cupped her cheeks. I worried she might flinch or jump, but she actually leaned into my touch and reveled in it. I did much the same. Outside volition, my thumbs began to brush against her smooth skin, pleasurable, spine-tingling sensations coursing throughout me at each sweeping touch.

Her eyes closed contentedly – without the pinch of a furrowed brow – accompanied by a slight smile made me wonder if she savored out interaction as much as I did.

I definitely hoped so.

"Are you okay?"

I exhaled the words – almost inaudibly – as I touched my forehead gently against hers, and my fingers fell to her waist, involuntarily tracing the hem of her thin grey tank top as I struggled to regain some semblance of composure.

I found myself overwhelmed by the spindles of electricity coursing through me and the presence of a disturbing emotion I could not place.

"No," she admitted despondently, her typically stoic and rigid artifice crumbling before my very eyes as she sobbed unreservedly – her control shattered and broken, "I'm really not."

* * *

Addy and I stood positioned like that for a short amount of time, my thumbs moving to draw tiny circles on the skin above her waistband, before I felt Godric's curiosity and confusion swell across our maker-child bond. Releasing one hand from her hip, I swept it into my pocket, pressing the side button up to reignite the sound on the technological device.

I cursed myself for ever silencing it in the first place.

In hindsight, it had been foolish.

It began to ring, twitching and jingling against my thigh, only seconds later. Not once – but twice – before I uncurled myself from Addy to answer it. She _whooshed_ away without hesitation, slumping down in a seated position on the edge of the platform. Her eyes closed, bloody tears still streaming in tracks down her face, and she placed one hand against her chest – over the cavity containing her unbeating heart.

I could not help but notice she stole a sharp breath she did not need to take.

 _What the fuck did she do that for?!_

"She is fine," I offered calmly, albeit quickly, in my native tongue, not sure if I even believed my own utterance, "I am..."

Godric cut me off, snarling at me – his fury barely caged.

"You have said that before!"

Before Addy had waltzed into his life, Godric and I had never been so at odds. We had been thick as thieves. Now it was as if I could do nothing right. In his eyes, I always seemed to be failing him – and her. It wore on me more than I would ever deign to admit.

Selfishly, I wanted things to return to how they were not even five years ago.

Before she disrupted our otherwise predictable nights.

"Ugh! Again with the freaking tongues!"

Addy muttered, her bloody tears ceasing unceremoniously as a narrowed glare settled in their wake – fixedly pointed in my direction.

I chased away the thought as Godric's feelings in our maker-child bond transformed – as if beckoned by a switch – from dark to light. Just the sound of her voice stilled his quelling rage, quieted his beast, and I was reminded why he had chosen her at all. _She_ had made him happy. _She_ had stopped him from wanting to meet the sun. _She_ had reignited something within him he had lost a long time ago.

Perhaps that was what fairies did by nature.

Brought things back to life.

" _What_ happened?"

Godric pressed at me, still continuing to translate his words despite Addy's evident frustrations at being excluded.

"Fader, it appeared to be nothing of consequence," I proceeded carefully, choosing my words wisely and with much deliberation as I tromped about the space, "merely pleasantries exchanged with the monarch of your state," I avoided using the an identifier like Texas – Texas could not be translated, "but he _very_ much enjoyed being in her company, seeing her..."

Godric interrupted me, "I understand."

"Eric'll…"

I heard Addy whisper, her soft voice capturing my attentions – rarely did she use my actual name instead of _Drew._

It seemed to mean something when she did, but I did not know what.

When I snapped my head in her direction, she raised her hand, cupping the speaker of her flip phone tightly against her mouth.

"Psst... psst... home, Alcide," was all I could discern.

"Fucking werewolf."

I groused audibly, not caring if she heard me or if her moony-eyed dog friend did either for that matter.

I hated Alcide Herveaux, on principle, and principle _alone_ – I told myself.

" _When_ did they meet?"

Godric asked a couple of seconds later, curiosity unexpectedly rampant in his tone.

 _He does not mind that she runs with wolves?!_

"Two weeks," I murmured sullenly, remembering how the dog had openly flirted with Addy despite the fact she had been at the carnival _with me_ , and how she had gone _running_ around the swamps with him every night since, "they met two weeks ago."

"Hmmm…" Godric hummed. Several minutes passed in silence before salutations were issued, signaling the end of our call, "Stay safe, broder. Good night."

"Good night, fader."

Although he had not stated plainly that Addy would be remaining in Louisiana – with me and Pam – for the unforeseeable future, he had not needed to.

My maker was clearly going to be busy orchestrating the not-so-untimely demise of the Texas King.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

The sun was low, nearly cusping against the horizon – I could feel it. Luckily the sun's position did not matter, my house was light-tight, guarded against the harsh and unmerciful rays of the violently burning star. It thankfully meant I could traverse the space with ease after rising early – a pleasant side effect of my vampire age.

Normally.

But not anymore.

As I opened the door to my chamber, I was met by the soft whimpers and cries I had been reintroduced to in the week since Addy's confrontation with Jameson. I huffed my annoyance audibly, knowing there was no one else awake to hear me. I had assumed we were done with this shit. I could barely fathom how a paltry span of time _talking_ to someone – albeit an enemy – had undone weeks' worth of progress.

She had regressed beyond comprehension, hovering about the house like the ghost of the girl who had practically _thrown_ herself into me on the Tilt-a-Whirl at the carnival. The one who had befriended a dog, and urged Pam and I to fuck. _That_ girl was gone. The glimmering spark of life had drained from her deep blue eyes, tinting them almost gray. For once, I was at a loss. I did not know how to handle her swift descent into yet _another_ depression.

But she was not _my_ child to mollycoddle, so I left her to her own devices.

Which in hindsight may have been a mistake.

I quickly crossed the balcony towards Addy's room, telling myself it was the maker's command that compelled me to check on her. As I neared her temporary space, the noises became more pronounced – intelligible bits intermingled with sleep-slurred utterances. _Who was Henry?_ I made a mental note to ask Pam to sleuth out the information because, despite Addy's mad lib-like dialogue, it was plain that whoever he was, she wanted to keep him at bay. Reaching the closed threshold, I instinctively reached for the knob, pulling my hand back as I remembered how silly my actions were.

There was no need to waste the time trying to gain entry; the door would be locked.

It was _always_ locked, or at least it always had been.

I palmed the brass fixture anyway, as I had too many times before. I twisted the object, hearing the expected click as the rod receded. The sound meant nothing; the deadbolt was the issue, residing inches higher – accessible from the inside. I pulled at the wooden barrier, waiting to hear the usual _thud_ that signaled my denied entry, but it gave way without impediment – swinging open towards me. Instantly I considered shutting it, my gut screaming at me to do anything but walk inside.

Instead, I found myself in Addy's room, with the door closed behind me.

"No, Henry! Please, _NO_! I'll be good! I'll be good!

Addy mumbled shakily over and over as she thrashed lightly from side to side, her golden blonde hair splayed about the pillow and stuck to her blood-covered face – tears spilling from her eyes without measure.

I stifled the gasp that threatened to erupt from my throat as I took in the state of her dark-stained sheets. I felt a strange feeling swim in the pit of my stomach knowing Addy had been sleeping night after night sheathed under cloth covered in her own dried blood. I kicked the odd emotion away, moving to the edge of the bed before sinking down beside the flailing child of my maker.

Her face was pinched and pained, her lips sleep-swollen and trembling.

She looked like hell, and yet… like heaven.

Her alabaster skin glowed subtly despite the lack of luminescence, the room bathed in darkness. She looked ethereal – or like a fairy. Perhaps she had retained her fairy nature even after the turn. _Maybe that is why she dreams._ Her weight shifted on the bed as she continued to murmur and sob, the small quakes of the mattress reaching my own form and snaking through my nerves. Suddenly – her eyes never opening – Addy threw the sullied sheets away from her, jolting completely upright before falling back down. She had not worn the pajamas I had come to know and loathe. In fact, her choice of dress left little to the imagination, and I unintentionally studied her naked flesh with slightly widened eyes.

I was not pleased at all by what I saw.

Because she carried many more marks than just mine.

My rough fingers involuntarily twitched, chills racing through them, as they traced the worst of her scars, which were collected about her left forearm. My beast growled lowly within me, itching to destroy something. Why had Godric not spoken of this!? Who _THE FUCK_ was Henry!? Had _HE_ done this to her!? I wanted to rip the unidentified _Henry_ limb from limb, and I felt bloodlust swell within me, my eyes clouding black. My hand traveled as my mind wandered, trailing down her side – lightly brushing the curve of her supple breast – to touch the raised lines on her exposed stomach. My attentions returning, I realized it was painstakingly quiet. Sometime during the exchange, Addy's nightmare-induced mutters had ceased, and the tight furrow in her brow had smoothed into a serene expression.

I was glad at least one of us felt at ease.

Because my veins were boiling – barely caged fury alit within them.

"Eric…"

Addy whispered softly, uncertainty claiming her tone as her red pouty lips exhaled my name in a way I had fantasized about more times than I would ever admit.

It was enough to completely bring me to my senses and shake off the angry beast consuming my inhibitions and driving my actions. I launched myself away from her and towards the door in a blur. There was zero chance she had woken up – she was _too_ young to rise this early – but still a feeling not unlike shame welled up within me. Without cause or reason, I mentally catalogued a whole slew of excuses I might make for being in her space, for breaching the threshold while she was in her most vulnerable state – just in case. I stifled the urge to groan; Godric would accept none of them if he ever found out what I had done.

Why _had_ I come in here, even after telling myself not to?!

Why could I not fucking control myself around her!?

"Bite… me…"

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

 _Was she dreaming… of New Orleans?_

The relief that swamped me felt more suffocating than the guilt.

I stole from the room at vamp speed, knocking the door against the jamb as I exited – acutely aware the loud _bang_ could _possibly_ rouse her from her daydeath. I refused to process what had just transpired, or believe I had heard her correctly. That she would be dreaming about _that_ night. That the tone in her voice had betrayed a fondness for the memory.

Because just about _everything_ that had happened that night, and after…

…had been like a waking nightmare for me.

* * *

"So what's the good news, Eric?"

Pam inquired gleefully from her seated position at the kitchen island, switching to our customary Swedish as she heard Addy's socked feet descending the grand staircase.

"Godric has aligned with Stan Davis of Texas' Area Two, who will rule the state in Jameson's absence," I responded in the same language, refusing to even turn my head in Godric's child's direction as she swept into the space. I listened to the fridge door lurch, and the jangle of clinking glassware, before I continued, "He expects the King's death to go down in a few weeks' time. He will come get Addy after things are…"

"Wait? What!?" Pam interrupted me, her irritations apparent and a veiled whine in her voice, "I can't keep playing babysitter every night!" She clacked her nails one by one, from pinky to pointer, against the countertop, "She was bad before, but now that you won't let her leave the house? She's fucking _intolerable_!"

Intolerable.

That was one fucking word for it.

"Then consider yourself free from your _burdensome_ obligation," I responded coolly, my tone reeking of displeasure mixed with a hint of sarcasm, "Thalia will watch Addy, and you..."

I paused, debating whether to punish Pam for disliking our forced charge or let it go.

It was not as if she had asked for any of this. Addy took this beat to vamp from the space – presumably back to her room, her tip-toed ascent up the stairs still audible. Despite the distance – and translated speech – I hushed my next words, knowing Addy would recognize the name if she heard it.

I did not want to have to explain how I knew it and why it vexed me.

Confess to what I had seen.

"…you will use your freed up time to find out who the fuck _Henry_ is to Addy."

I demanded, spitting out his name as if it was poison in my mouth.

"That's _it_?" Pam exclaimed, her jaw dropping momentarily in surprise, which prompted me to furrow my brow and narrow my eyes, "Oh, Eric, if you lift your command that I ' _don't discuss Addy or any of the shit I learned about her'_ ," she finger-quoted, "while she was hospitalized, I can tell you right now _exactly_ who _Henry_ is to Addy."

So I removed the command, hoping to quell my lurking beast – satiate his thirst for blood, for revenge. He was thrilled at the prospect of mortally wounding someone who had possibly done far worse to Godric's child. But as it turned out, my dark passenger would forever remain indignant, frustrated and unsated.

Because _Henry_ was Addy's _father._

And unfortunately for me that fucker was already dead.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"Sheriff Northman," Sophie Anne greeted through the tinny speaker on my cellular, after phoning out of the blue almost two weeks later – the subsequent conversation unscheduled and wholly unexpected, "use your burner to call me back on mine."

Then she hung up.

Pulling the untraceable cell phone from the mahogany desk drawer in my Area Five office, I dialed the Queen's unlisted number – obliging her request.

"I'll cut to the chase, Northman," She said without preamble, her forever teenaged voice slightly undercutting her authoritative tone, "I know your maker is in bed with Stan Davis to take over the Texas state. I _know_ because I am too. Not literally, of course," Sophie Anne most certainly preferred female bedmates above all others, "but each of us has our own reason for wanting Jameson to meet the true death."

I grunted my agreement gutturally.

There was no use in trying to refute what the Queen knew to be true.

"Your maker's reason, though…" She continued, "That's the one that's pretty fucking dumb, if you ask me. He's risking all your lives by killing his K _ing_ – exposing his _biggest_ weakness – and for what? Because the fucktard made a pass at his newest child? We all fuck like bunnies, _including_ your maker, but she's what? Special? Untouchable? Because showing the world that… will make her an easy target. For anyone – for _EVERYONE_ – who wants to hurt him. And you know that your maker is not without his fair share of enemies."

It was not as if I had not considered the possibility myself, but Godric believed he could protect her from anything – from everything – by brute force alone.

I, for one, did not agree that it was a smart stratagem, or the kind of life she deserved.

"What are you suggesting instead?"

I inquired unemotionally, breaking the weighty silence to join what had quickly become a one-sided exchange.

"I'm so glad you asked," Sophie Anne mused languidly, "You see, Texas has something I want – the one they call the 'rogue vampire' – and I would be so inclined to accept full responsibility for Jameson's true death if you secure her for me, for Louisiana."

" _Why_?"

I queried – a hint of disbelief discernable in my tone – very much not expecting a straightforward response, if I got one at all.

"She is Bill's maker – Lorena… and one of my own weaknesses, if you must know…"

I was shocked, floored in fact – my expression mirroring the sentiment – not that anyone would ever know it.

My office was camera and bug-free; I swept it daily.

While I had always kept my ears fully open, I was careful never to stick my nose where it did not belong. I mostly played it cool, and worried about myself and my child. So I had not put together two and two, or spied the connection between the Queen and the prisoner in Texas. I had not considered that Sophie Anne's continual stalemates during her marital negotiations had been purposeful – that she was simply buying time.

Just like Godric had been the past couple of weeks.

She prattled on, ignoring my silence.

"…But that is not how we will play this. That jackass has been trying to bullying me for years now, and all the vampire council will hear about is how I was fed up with his bullshit. That I was fucking tired of him questioning my strength, the power of our state. If your maker is agreeable, that is the story, and we are sticking to it," She paused for a moment, her tone becoming more serious and solemn, "I trust that I can trust you, Sheriff Northman. Do _NOT_ make a fuck of me... I'm not the only one who will suffer if you do."

Again, she hung up without ceremony.

Of course, she did.

It was the vampire thing to do.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

After more debate than I would have preferred, Godric had agreed to align with the Queen of Louisiana, to let her take the glory – and blame – for the plot to overthrow the Texas King.

 _"But I will not release the rogue vampire – the woman who maimed several humans in my Area without impunity. That condition you must satisfy yourself, broder."_

He had stated, offering no room for argument – not that I would have brooked one. I understood my place in the exchange, what I needed to do to stay loyal to my maker, but also my state. My maker had a duty to protect his progeny, and now I had one to protect the _rogue vampire_ – Lorena.

So after I put a few affairs in order, I kissed Pam goodbye and launched myself into the starry sky, towards Texas.

No more waiting; it was time to kill that fucking King.

* * *

I stood next to Godric in the great room of his nest, itching for a fight – my sword sheathed underneath my clothes and strapped to my back. It had been a long time since she had been wielded in battle – too long – and now that the time was upon us, adrenaline was spiking like fire in my veins.

The temperate air was practically vibrating with anticipation, with excitement.

Godric had continually tried to send me calm over our maker-child bond – misinterpreting the feelings he was receiving from me – but I had rejected it over and over. I finally placed a calloused hand on his shoulder, garnering his attention, and gave him a small shake of my head.

 _Stop. I_ want _to feel this way_ , the gesture said.

And I did; it kept me cautious – alert.

"It's almost like a goddamn family reunion up in here then," Jameson boomed as he strode into the room, dressed as always in his signature blue-grey suit. He was flanked by his second, Isabel, with Sabine padding along – a few feet behind, "But where's that sweet chick-a-dee? She just hiding 'round the bend? Don't _tell_ me ya left that little bit back 'cross state lines there."

 _Of course_ , I had left her in Louisiana, but Aaron had been led to believe otherwise.

He presumed he had won, and already it was throwing him off his game.

What a fucking idiot.

"She is upstairs unpacking," Godric lied smoothly, before turning to face me, "Thank you for bringing her back to me, my son. I hope she was no trouble," He paused as if in thought, "Have you fed yet this evening? Has she?"

I _had_ earlier enjoyed libations, consuming twice my usual fill in preparation for this evening's events, but still I answered in the negative.

"No, broder…"

"Well come the fuck _on_ then!" Jameson interrupted, with a mischievous grin that spoke volumes, "Go get that sister of yers and let's have ourselves a freakin' party!"

Godric nodded to me, indicating the task was to be my own. I returned the gesture respectfully before vamping from the great room and up the wooden staircase. I paused at the door, allowing myself a moment to smile before steeling my expression and throwing open the door.

Everything was going according to plan.

"It is time."

I stated evenly, the smallest hint of excitement discernable in my tone.

Because while _Addy_ may not have been in Godric's living space, it _was_ most certainly occupied.

* * *

We noisily bounded back down the stairs – my entreated guest and I – intentionally capturing the attentions of the Texas King, who chose to yell out from the other room.

"Miss Hard- _ing_ ," Jameson sing-songed, uncaged glee rich in his tone – his guard notably down, "come out, come out from wherever ya are."

I casually waltzed back into the space by myself, my swaggering gait languorous and full of bravado – a keen display of showmanship.

A satisfied smile tugged at my lips as Aaron furrowed his brow, visibly confused by the fact I had entered alone.

"Sorry to disappoint, _cabron_ , but she's not here right now. That girl's not yours to worry 'bout anymore," Stan declared loudly in his Texas twang with a glint in his eye, after vamping into the nest's great room to face the now open-mouthed King, "In fact, she's the _least_ of your worries."

This was the best part, aside from actually delivering the King's true death.

Letting that smug bastard realize how truly he had fucked himself.

" _You_?" Aaron said incredulously, obviously surprised and off-put by Stan's presence, "What the _FUCK_ are you doing here? Ohhh," he mused, quickly catching on to what was going down, "Got it. This here's a fucking mutiny then. Ha!" he laughed, slapping his leg, "What a crock of bullshit this is then. You fuckers come inta _MY_ nest and think you've got the fucking numbers to beat me? HA!"

He motioned with a wave of his hand for Isabel, who had deftly widened the berth between them, to _handle_ Stan, but she simply shook her head.

Her true loyalties were now exposed and plain.

"What the fuck is this then!? Switching sides like a goddamn Benedict Arnold!" Jameson spat out at Isabel, taking a threatening step forward towards his now-resigned Sheriff, "Y'all all got your damn minds warped over this shit! That fucking girl spun tales to ya then," the King shouted exasperatedly, noticeably irate by tone and expression – his limbs waving animatedly into the air, "Told ya I been botherin' her and such. Is that why you're suddenly so keen to defect? That bitch's been aching for me. Ya know it. Ya just don't fucking like it, old man."

Aaron's stare was fixed deliberately on Godric, a finger pointing accusingly at his chest – the distance far-stretching between them.

As if it could not be closed quickly, which of course it could be – and was.

"DO _NOT_ SPEAK OF MY DOTTER THAT WAY!"

Godric roared as he charged at Jameson, his face contorted in rage and his fingers curled into claws.

The King bellowed loudly for his nestmates, urging them to take up arms – crying like a banshee for backup.

Pandemonium broke out not long after that.

* * *

The chaotic scene was practically a blur.

Blows were traded without measure, blood spraying in all directions from injuries sustained in the heart of the heated battle. The other Area vampires, those beholden to the nest, had joined at the King's beck and call, fighting against our group and supposed traitors – like Isabel and Sabine – as loyalty lines were drawn.

I had unsheathed my sword from my back, striking at anyone who came within a foot of me – watching them turn to dust as Godric battled, a short distance away, against the King.

"Ya like fucking that Berzerker's pussy so much ya don't wanna share? Is that it?!" Jameson taunted, as he and Godric flew at each other in hand-to-hand combat, "She _that_ fucking sweet?!"

I saw my maker's pupils blow black in my peripheral, his beast overtaking him, and he grabbed at Aaron's lapels, ripping them off as the King vamped himself across the room. Aaron threw his head back and laughed, like a fucking hyena. He was trying to bait Godric, throw him off his game, but of course it was only serving to make him fiercer, push him further into bloodlust.

He looked monstrous and feral – his eyes wild and full of fire – like a bedeviled creature escaped from hell simply toying with his food before he devoured it.

Like the vampire who had turned me while claiming to be Death incarnate.

Having dispatched my latest foe – a thin sheen of dust bespeckling my clothes – a sandy haired vampire charged at me, yelling loudly in what I assumed was his native tongue. His short stature forced me to weave and jump to dodge his fumbling blow and deliver a more deadly one of my own. I took a beat to glance about the cloudy room after easily besting my unskilled opponent, noting the flurried swirls of action had greatly decreased in number.

The resulting display rivaled that of a sandstorm.

Had any of us an inducement to breathe, we would have surely choked to death.

Stan was now playing watchman, leaning against the doorjamb, willing but uneager to join the fray. He made short work of those who wandered his way but was otherwise digesting the scene, taking it all in. His passive behavior was to be expected, after all this was Godric's fight - even if the historical record would not capture it as such. Stan was here on pretense alone, for show.

So was I, for that matter.

Or at least that was what I kept telling myself.

"Yeah, ya like fucking that daddy's girl, I bet ya," the King spewed venomously, a smirk overtaking his bloodied, bruising countenance as he barely sidestepped one of Godric's breakneck fisted-strikes, "Just like ol' Grabby McWhat's-his-nuts," he gestured as if searching his mind for the name. He snapped his fingers when it came to him, " _Henry_!"

I rarely lost control, but the mention of _that_ name was all it took.

Predacious and unrestrained, I snarled my burning rage like a wild animal, my claw-like fingers gripping the hilt of my sword tight.

 _"No, Henry! Please, NO! I'll be good! I'll be good!"_

Suddenly, it was all I could hear – Addy's anguished cries for mercy – as the scene before me melted away like candlewax into a red-tinged puddle of goo.

Bloodlust.

 _Swish. Swish swish… poof!_

Blood… carnage … _revenge_ …

 _"NO! Anything but that, Eric! Please, oh please DON'T take me to the hospital!"_

The sight of her white creamy skin marred by angry, deep scars flashed obtrusively through my mind.

Gurgling guttural growls…

 _AHHHHHHHHHHHH_! _– poof_!

 _"Bite me…" She whispered sweetly, her jingling voice as soft as a whisper in the wind._

Glancing down, _min lilla fairie_ lay sticky with blood, clutched in my arms – her body twitching as death tried to grip her tight.

 _BAM_!

I howled in pain as something sharp connected with the joint of my shoulder, ripping me back into reality. As the crimson haze receded in my vision, I spied Jameson before me, his own armament in hand and grinning like a fucking Cheshire cat. Our swords met with an echoing _clank,_ and I growled loudly as I pushed him back. I donned an attack stance, preparing to strike him. I ignored the limp arm that swung involuntarily at my side – that had been all but severed from my body.

I did not let it faze or impede me in the slightest.

In this moment, it was an ancillary appendage, plus I had no doubts it could be reattached.

" _Le-gen-dary_ Eric fuckin' Northman, ladies and gentlemen," Aaron enthused, pointing out the sorry state of my arm to the few allies he still had left, "Falling _right_ off his fuckin' high horse and for what? Some damaged, crazy-ass philly, _that's_ fuckin' what."

He straightened his empty hand out in front of him – demonstrating that it was uninjured – and curled his grouped fingers back and forth into his palm.

" _NOW_ it's a party!"

He shouted in an excited tone, the motion clearly stating, ' _Come fucking at me_.'

The uproarious laugh that erupted from my throat at his pitiful efforts to intimidate me was hearty and deep.

I wanted that fucker to _know_ that I was more than happy to oblige.

My sword clanged to the ground as I charged at him. Grabbing his still curled fingers, I vaulted him upwards and into the plastered ceiling, little snowflake-like pieces falling around him as he slammed back into the stone floor. I was on top of him in milliseconds, delivering blurring blow after blow to his pretty-boy face until it mushed like pulp under my knuckles. He thrashed beneath me, his limbs shooting haphazardly in all directions, trying to toss me aside – but to no avail.

"Are you scared of me, Aaron?"

I whispered menacingly, repeating the words he had said to Addy – his swollen eyes widening in fear as he realized his threat had _not_ gone unnoticed.

As his outlandish and brash façade finally melted away.

"Yes, I think you are – scared of me," I continued, enjoying this moment far more than almost any that had come before, "I will tell you a secret…"

Jameson stilled beneath me as I clasped my uninjured hand on the side of his battered face, my nails sinking into his scalp – earning a small, but pronounced yelp. I leaned in, my fangs peeking out from under my lips, his nose mere inches from my own. Then, I murmured almost inaudibly, but not quite, "You should be."

Then I twisted hard – savagely – extricating his head clean off his body.

 _Poof_ , he blasted away into dust.

As the King disintegrated, Stan pushed back off the wall and sauntered towards the center of the room, both Isabel and Sabine trailing closely behind.

I rose to my feet and stepped aside, giving him a respectful nod – to display I did not want the kingdom for myself – as he passed me.

We had done our part, and now it was time for him to do his.

* * *

Godric quirked a single brow, begging a question I had no interest in answering – at least not fully.

 _Why did you shove me away and confront the King_? – his expression inquired.

"I was not in my right mind."

I mumbled through gritted teeth, as I bent down awkwardly so that the little elvish doctor could inspect my laceration.

Even from hundreds of miles away, Addy had managed to crawl under my skin and distract me.

For once, I knew exactly how I felt about that – annoyed.

"Whatever happened to that fairy girl – your future child – the one that gave him the Blight?"

Ludwig asked Godric casually, as she peered through her thick, magnifying spectacles to survey the damage to my arm.

"She has become my newest child."

He answered proudly, our maker-child bond echoing the sentiment.

"Is she here?" she replied enthusiastically, near elation gripping her usually pinched expression, "I've been scouring the annals, digging into the books, and I found an obscure and long-buried case about a hybrid…" She practically tripped over her words they spilled out so quickly, "I just… I'd love to get to examine her, see if everything _took_ , so to speak."

I parted my lips, but closed them just as quickly – keeping my opinions and concerns to myself.

It was not my place to discuss Godric's child's peculiarities.

"She is _vampire_ and that is that! Now do what you came to do, and fix him."

Godric responded brusquely before vamping from the room.

"Well _that's that_ , I guess," she grumbled sarcastically to herself, as she affixed my injured shoulder into a sling from her perch atop the counter I was leaning against, "So what's her stake in all this? Did you kill that bastard of a King for her?"

"No!" I clipped out gruffly, almost too quickly to pass for the truth, intentionally flinching under her ministrations to fault my exclamation on the pain, "Jameson was attempting to strong-arm Queen Sophie Anne into a contractual marriage. She refused to let his bullshit weaken her state, so instead she weakened his. I merely acted as her weapon."

It was the official version of events that would be filed with the vampire council.

The story I would be doomed to repeat for an eternity.

"Well next time, try harder not to get yourself hacked at, Northman. You nearly lost this arm. As it stands, that wound will need at least a couple of weeks – and some of your maker's blood – to knit together properly. All in all, I'd say you got very lucky."

No, what I had gotten was sloppy – careless.

Pam was going to be pissed.

* * *

She _had_ been pissed, immeasurably so.

"Pam, I will return to Louisiana shortly – as soon as I have healed enough to fly."

"Okay, Eric."

She hung up after that, but I could feel her anger quake across our bond, overwhelming it. I debated calling her back, but dismissed the notion. I told myself she was not a human child that needed to be fussed over. Pam simply needed time to process what had happened.

Not too long after, her rage was replaced by contentment bordering on satisfaction.

Foolishly, I worried she had tempered her wrath by spending copious amount of my money shopping online for designer clothes and shoes.

Much later, I found myself wishing that she had done that instead.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"Sophie Anne called to discuss what you did for Lorena and Bill."

Godric stated as he entered the living room space, and I grimaced at the mention of that brown-noser's name.

While freeing Compton's maker had provided a plausible cover story for the reason behind the King's timely death, I would never be a fan of that whiny-ass vampire. I detested the fact I had done him a favor – even if only by proxy. I could not _wait_ for him to leave Area Five and go back to the Queen's palace.

I imagined it would be any day now.

Gods, I hoped so.

"She would like to offer you a position as Lieutenant in her court," I stifled the urge to groan, she had been trying to relocate me to New Orleans for decades, "She also asked me to relay the message that Bill has been tasked to send one of his finest procurements to aid in your speedy recovery. She said Bill is – his words – _'tickled pink'_ that everything went as planned."

I settled further back against the dark leather cushion, allowing myself to sink down in an effort to support my still-tender shoulder. Tonight, I had finally been given the go-ahead by Dr. Ludwig to remove that fucking off-white sling. It had inhibited my motions for the past couple of days, and irritated me to no end. It was a nuisance I hated to suffer, and my bad mood had not been concealed.

It now lay in shreds at the bottom of a trash receptacle in Godric's nest.

I _had_ to destroy the vexing garment – it was the vampire thing to do.

"Tickled pink?" I chuckled, wondering if Bill was more Southern belle than gentleman, stuck on the turn of phrase, "seriou…"

The word died in my throat as Thalia unexpectedly vamped into the room through the open-aired doorway. My mind scrambled to make sense of her presence, my countenance involuntarily awash with concern. I pushed up off the seat, lifting halfway to look for Addy, who I prayed would be entering hot on the heels of her designated bodyguard.

But she did not.

"What are you doing here, Thalia?! Where is Addy?!"

I demanded through gritted, fanged teeth, shooting to my feet to stare down the little Greek vampire – despite the throbbing pain that shot through my shoulder.

The soft _tear_ suggested I had done my recovering self no favors.

 _Fuck!_

Thalia flopped down on the opposite side of the couch from where I had been sitting, ignoring my threatening display and making herself right at home. She snatched the remote from the middle seat and powered on the wall-mounted TV. All the while, Godric and I glared at her, our eyes veritably trying to burn a hole straight through her.

If looks could kill, she would have burst into flames, or dust.

Thalia flipped the channel to a fùtbol match, and her head bobbed along to the gameplay as she replied dispassionately.

"Pam attack. She run. I make safe."

I inhaled sharply, and haggardly released the useless breath, my skin practically searing from the hot rage in my blood.

The fury roiling off my maker only served to further ignite the near-blistering heat.

My British brat of a child was just _itching_ for a punishment it seemed.

"Safe _where_ , Thalia?"

"In swamp."

Thalia grinned wide, flicking her brown chocolate eyes from the screen to mine, her crooked Cheshire smile beaming with unbridled pride before expounding further.

"Safe, chained and buried in swamp."

Fuck.

* * *

Clods of dirt and mud cascaded into the air in jagged sheets, spreading like fireworks before plodding against the wet, grassy earth.

Cicadas screeched their cacophonous songs as the area wildlife skittered about guardedly – no doubt unnerved by our intrusion. Standing next to the half-dug hole, Godric and I continued to monitor Pam's progress as Thalia bounced excitedly nearby. Her amusement was uncaged and pronounced; I had never seen her act this way.

She was inordinately pleased with what she had done – silvering and burying Addy in the Twelve Mile Bayou to safeguard her from harm.

So fucking proud of herself.

"You had _better_ be right this time."

I hissed loudly at Thalia, not bothering to hide my irritations at her earlier insistence that _this_ was definitely the burial site.

My distrust had been earned.

Because Pam had already dug nine holes.

While I appreciated that part one of Pam's punishment for attacking Addy had been prolonged, I could tell that my maker was becoming impatient and increasingly tense. His maker-child bond with her was disquietingly silent – as usual – so he desperately wanted her in his sights, to see with his own eyes she was okay. His anger, and fear, had heightened with each failure to produce the dotter he had risked everything for.

Conversely, I felt guilty, because this was _all_ my fault.

I had chosen to leave Addy in the crazy little vampire's care.

As Godric began to pace and wring his hands – a disturbingly human display – my child reared back the shovel again and sank it into the loose soil. _Thump_! Never had I heard such a beautiful sound ring out into the night. _Thank the fucking Gods!_ – I thought, my eyes gazing up towards the sky.

Finally, metal had struck wood.

We had found her.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

The cloud of relief at seeing the unearthed coffin had disintegrated instantly once the clumsily-affixed lid had been pried open.

Because she was not there.

The pine box had been unoccupied, but not empty. It was filled with several thick, silver chains and one thin, sharp-tipped branch – a thin layer of fine dust blanketing the base. There was no evidence of a struggle, but there would not have been. The silver would have rendered her immobile, made defense impossible.

Godric had mumbled something about a sitting duck and fish being shot in a barrel.

I had never heard either idiom, but his meaning was not lost on me.

I could not say exactly how I had felt in that moment. But my maker had been crestfallen, and his eyes had brimmed with unshed, bloody tears before he had launched himself into the sky. I had left him to his own devices – he needed time alone – and stalked my way back to the house.

I had shrugged off Pam's multiple attempts to coddle me in the days that followed.

As it turned out, I had required time alone as well.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Some time went by, and Godric still could not feel in her in his blood…

* * *

And then, after a few weeks had passed – having respectfully declined Sophie Anne's offer – things for me just sort of… returned to their previous stasis, became routine again.

My nights reverted back to the way they had always been before.

Lifeless. Dull. Shades of gray.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"Someone left a message for you."

Compton offered as I swept into the Area Five court, his hand extended and gripping an enveloped note, sealed at the back with a red, waxy mark.

"It was delivered today – before sunset," He clarified as I took the note from him, turning it over to examine the impressed seal – which was most certainly not official, "It seems our security set-up may be lacking," he admitted sheepishly, nervously running his hand through his greasy, overly-moussed bangs – as he was prone to do, "the cameras were ineffectual at identifying the messenger. But there was a strange blur of light before it appeared, so I suspect we had a power surge…"

Much to my chagrin, he blithered on and on about the systems and camera angles while I stomped my way up the few stairs to the dais. I slumped down onto the throne with the note still gripped tight in my palm.

"Bill!" I boomed, my patience cut short by his incessant droning, "Go fucking make yourself useful."

He _harrumphed_ like a pouty human adolescent, but still spun on his heel and headed towards the back. He childishly slammed the heavy wooden door behind him.

He had his fucking maker back, so why he had not left yet I could not say.

But I also could not bring myself to care.

I eyed the white envelope suspiciously, glaring at it as though my icy gaze could force it to reveal its hidden message. The cursive penning of my name gave no hint to the identity of the sender. I flipped it over with my fingers, thumbing at the seal. The red wax mark was simple, as though the stamp had been carved by hand – a circle with a moonlike arc and a crude five-pointed star cut inside of it. It meant… something, I was sure of it. It screamed to be deciphered, to be detangled and decoded.

It inexplicably reminded me of Addy.

Aggravated and aggrieved, I tossed the offending parchment to the ground, its departure from my hand punctuated by a rumbling growl. It skittered across the stage, coming to a halt at the edge. I would deal with that unsolicited piece of bullshit later, I told myself.

But later came sooner than I expected.

 _Ding-a-ling ding_!

The jingling tone signaled an incoming communication from another Area Sheriff. So I pulled my phone from its pocketed place to glance at the flashing screen – _Godric_. A tidal wave of emotion flooded me. I answered the call immediately, shocked and alarmed as I discerned that the feelings traveling over the bond were those of excitement, of relief. I wanted him to be happy, but this reversal was just _bizarre_.

He had been frantic, frenetic in his attentions, for weeks.

Since she had met the true death.

"Broder," Godric enthused in my native Swedish, unfiltered happiness belied by his tone, "there are no daisies!"

 _What?!_

Had grief driven him to madness?

"There are no daisies!"

He repeated gleefully, his turn of phrase more confusing than illuminating – as though those four words _should_ mean something to me.

"Read your letter."

Then he hung up.

My curiosity sufficiently piqued, I flew from my throne and snatched the note from its perched position. I tore up the glued flap, breaking the ciphered seal in two, and ripped out the single card. My eyes speedily scanned the salutation and the few words – _Don't worry. I'm_ _not pushing up daisies_ – and then widened slightly. I did not even try to tamp down the broad smile that overtook my countenance as a warmth not unlike relief coursed through me.

It did not matter that the note had been unsigned; I knew irrefutably who had sent it.

Because only one _irriterande lilla fairie_ had ever dared to call me… _Drew_.

* * *

 _A/N:_ _Sorry this chapter took so long, I'd like to pretend I was off gallivanting and living the good life, but this break was markedly the opposite. For several months now, I've been incredibly stressed and sad (for reasons I'd rather not discuss) and that's not a good or healthy combination for me – so I was neither good, nor healthy. It seems, like this story, I am also a work-in-progress. I'd like to say things have fully settled down, but what's the use in lying? They've gotten better, and for now that's enough._

 _Thanks for hanging with me, and there's definitely more to come! Probably another 11-12 chapters before we finish our time with this uncommunicative little vampire family. But where, oh where, has Sookie gone off to? That's the real question, isn't it?_


	13. Bring Me To Life – Evanescence

_A/N: Happy Holidays!_

 _Very special thanks to Mrskroy and rachel olsen-williams, who both have put up with me agonizing over this chapter for the better part of two months. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist._

* * *

 _"Someone I loved once gave me_ _a box full of darkness._ _It took me years_

 _to understand_ _that this, too, was a gift."_

 _― Mary Oliver_

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Dirt sprayed across the rectangled, oddly boxed in night sky as I struggled to shake the feeling not unlike waking bleary-eyed from a fitful sleep. I blinked, not once but twice, my bespeckled vision refocusing as several repeated images bled back into one another. It was an odd feeling – an off-putting one – and my mind groped haphazardly to place why it very much felt like déjà vu.

 _Because it is!_

My mind screamed at me.

"Thalia!"

I hissed as I attempted to sit up from my horizontal position, finding the task not only difficult, but impossible.

 _What the hell?!_

Each herky-jerky move underneath the heavy bundle I couldn't identify burned like a lit cigarette against my exposed flesh and I stifled the urge to cry out from the sensation. But thankfully I'd endured this sort of pain before, so I tamped it down with relative and unfortunate ease. Plus, I knew exactly where I was – the tree-line familiar and unique – which brought me a calm I couldn't explain, especially since that little tidbit of information didn't help me one lick. Quickly, I stilled, giving up my short-lived labors and letting out an exasperated huff as I finally admitted to myself my efforts were futile.

Did this debacle count as kid gloves for vampires? I really couldn't say.

But it felt like _yes_ considering I was stuck at the bottom of a hole, and at the mercy of a crazed little vampire I didn't altogether trust.

"Thal-ia!"

I screeched again, and this time my voice cracked slightly, betraying how scared I really was – practically frozen by the icy bout of fear slushing torrentially through my veins.

 _What if it isn't Thalia?_

A head suddenly popped into view, questioning brown eyes peering over the slanted edge of what I could only assume was meant to be my grave, bringing me a fleeting bit of relief.

"You wake? Good. Pam attack, Thalia bury 'til safe."

"No!" I shrieked loudly – so much so the echo resounded into the night – my depressive state evident and rich in my tone, "I want to go to Dallas, get all this over with. I can fix everything, if you just let me go to Dallas…"

"No!" she reverberated back in retort, her usually steely expression darkening without the slightest bit of softness – a frightening scowl tangling about her lips and reaching her eyes, "Northman _need_ safe!" Eric, not Ezra; the distinction was not lost on me, "Thalia protect him. Always. One thousand years, you only thing he ask Thalia protect. Not fail now."

I would've been lying if I said her words hadn't excited me to some extent, despite my gloomy state.

But like it'd been every other time in my life, that elation was short-lived.

* * *

I'd never been one for small spaces.

Even as a child, they'd terrified me and made me feel trapped and powerless like a caged animal. Henry had thought it funny, often closing me in my closet to punish me for saying this or that, doing this or that – for being a disappointment. He had always laughed while I cried pitifully on the other side of the door and scraped my nails into bloodied nubs as I attempted to claw my way out.

I could hear him laughing now.

His menacing voice taunted me lowly, whispering in my ear.

Sucking in unsteadied breaths, I tried to calm the panic swelling through me, the short bursts of consuming dread threatening to drown me – consume me from the inside out. I felt a familiar tug in my mind and clamped down on the bond I shared with Ezra like a vice grip twisting on a workbench. More fervently than I ever had before. I slammed our connection closed, slipping a figurative deadbolt into place to lock it tight.

I could barely handle my own emotions right now, let alone his _._

I _needed_ to suffer through this alone.

What could've been minutes felt like decades and my mind began to run off with me, my imagination controlling every impulse and action. I thrashed again, this time violently, against what I assumed had to be barbed chains – the heavy, cutting objects making escape impossible. My hands twitched, anxious to claw at the pine box – gain my necessary freedom – shaking as much as they had room to when it started to feel like everything was getting smaller, like the walls were closing in.

Was I _literally_ or _figuratively_ losing space?

I really wasn't sure.

What I _was_ getting pretty sure about was that I was going to die in here. My breaths were getting raspier, somehow less productive – and not just at sedating my cracking nerves. My head was starting to feel oddly light, swimming towards faint, like I was being deprived of oxygen – suffocating. _But vampires don't need to breathe_ , I posited, wondering now if I had read those signs all wrong. It wasn't as if anyone had ever confirmed it for me outright. _No, that doesn't make sense. Thalia buried me to protect me, not kill me_.

But as my vision spotted, I realized it didn't have to make sense.

Because it was happening all the same.

Wheezing uncontrollably, fat tears began to escape my eyes, and my skin felt positively electric. Burning like fire, as if lava was coursing wildly through my veins. I thrashed again underneath the heavy chains that licked like razor blades against my exposed skin, scraping my nails down to the beds as I tried to tear through my wooden confines in one last ditch effort to escape. Pain be damned. Everything was spinning, violently and without measure.

It felt like my body was being engulfed by a white hot light.

 _Why did that feel familiar?_

My mind raced with wishful thoughts about not wanting to be here, everything within me begging to be anywhere else. Dallas, I'd only wanted to go to Dallas – to fix all the bullshit I'd caused. Instead I was in a pine box that was literally my soon-to-be coffin. Everything became a foggy haze as I slipped closer to unconsciousness – or more likely towards the end, as far as I could tell.

I _really_ didn't wanna die this way.

 _POP_!

The noise caused my heart to lurch harshly in my chest before I started gasping and gulping down air by the gallon-full. The wind was suddenly whipping against my uncovered skin as I raked my hands through dank, wet earth. Water was sloshing to and fro maybe only a couple of feet away, birds warbling their sing-song tunes nearby.

I knew inherently I'd found my way back to White Rock Lake – again.

 _What the… hell!?_

The sun shone in my squinting eyes, and I let loose a terrified howl – sending a small team of ducks into flight – scared as all get out that I was about to burn to a crisp. But I didn't. I just felt… warm. I blinked rapidly, still resting squarely on my back – the cool ground kissing against my black lycra zip-jacket and striped capris as I remained bathed in blinding sunlight. My eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness they'd been deprived of for so long. It felt unreal. It _was_ unreal, another dream – it just _had_ to be.

I mean, c'mon, I was an ex-half fairy turned vampire laying in grass staring up at the sun.

What the hell else was I supposed to think?

* * *

"AHHHHH! Oh my God! Harold, call 911!"

The panicked female voice grew closer to me with each syllable screamed until she was upon me, shadowing my figure with a deep line crevassed in her forehead – concern.

I peered up at the encroacher, remaining motionless except for my heaving chest.

I figured it'd prolly _really_ freak her out if I wasn't breathing.

I threw my mental shields down instantly, horror gripping me tight as reality came crashing down on me. ' _What's this world coming to?!_ ' This was happening. ' _Poor thing, she looks like death warmed over!'_ And was definitely not a dream. ' _… like that missing chick on the news a couple months ago.'_ Then I flashed back to my first night as vampire, to Jameson's exclamation about the Berzerker – how lucky Ezra was that I'd been presumed dead. _Ironically_ , _they'd hit that nail straight on the head._ Even though my mind was racing – with my own thoughts in addition to those from the small crowd now gathering around me – I took a beat to appreciate the slight humor in my situation.

I was glad I'd never really gotten good at the whole being dead thing.

Because now it looked like I was gonna hafta play _alive_.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

' _Poor thing, must've been a captive this whole time… looks like she hasn't seen a drop of sunshine in months. '_

Sadly, she was much more right than wrong.

"I do apologize for the wait, Miss Harding. I know you've been through quite the ordeal and we're not trying to make it worse," Officer Totally Sincere soothed with a small earnest smile from behind her neat as a pin desk, fingers clacking away at her keyboard, "It's just that your lawyer gave us very explicit instructions earlier not to take your statement until he was present. His office isn't too far from here; I'm sure he'll be here soon."

I could only assume she was talking about the _same_ lawyer who had managed to threaten the EMTs with a legal suit just seconds before they tried to take my pulse.

 _Saved from torches and pitchforks by a complete stranger_.

Gladys, who was apparently Harold's wife, had insisted she wouldn't let me ' _outta her sight'_ until someone took a good look at me from head-to-toe – despite my many protestations that I was _fine_. Everything had gone swimmingly at first. _What was my name?_ Sookie Adele Harding. _Did I know where I was?_ White Rock Lake. Each question was answered with relative ease as he flashed lights in my eyes and knocked a hammer-like tool against each knee. But then I saw the blue-gloved, uniformed man pull out a stethoscope, and I had practically filled to the brim with dread.

Because if I let him check me for a heartbeat, he'd quickly realize…

I. Didn't. Have. One.

Suddenly, a garbled, static-laced sound had screeched hurriedly through the CB radio. Panic had been rich in the speaker's tone, and the words just as urgent, if not bordering on frenzied. The guy had turned almost as pale as me before he jumped back and away like I'd burned him. He hadn't come within even a foot of me after that. I'd have been offended if I hadn't been so damn grateful.

The police had shown up about twelve minutes later to cart me away to the station.

So I could sit and wait with Officer Totally Sincere.

The moniker wasn't meant to be disrespectful. She was a nice enough lady. Full of smiles and twinkling, sympathy-filled eyes. But her name had escaped my attention at our introduction, and her name badge was now inconveniently tucked behind her long auburn hair. Which she had swept across her shoulders after pulling it down from a ponytail at my entrance. Covering her neck almost protectively like _somehow_ she _knew_.

I mentally kicked at myself for reaching a whole new level of paranoia I'd never experienced before – of course, she didn't know I was a vampire!

Believe me, I would've been able to tell.

' _Such a shame she couldn't keep down that glass of water. Must be so anxious and scared. God only knows how she escaped the Berzerker...'_

Her thoughts were loud – almost abrasively so – and devoid of anything even remotely relating to the "V" word. If anything, her cheeriness mixed with concerned ramblings were giving me a headache I didn't know I was capable of getting. _Could vampires take Excedrin?_ Only time would tell, having accepted two proffered pills only moments earlier. But I could say with certainty she didn't have a mean bone in her body or wish me one bit of harm, even if it couldn't be said of all the other boys in blue.

One in particular had been giving me the narrow, side-eye paired with a fresh scowl from across the precinct ever since I'd walked in.

Detective Jackass – apparently known to the rest of the world as Jax.

' _What's Jax's problem? Why won't he stop glaring at her? She's a victim in all this…'_

Clearly, he was not destined to become my biggest fan. _Ditto_ , _buddy_. Because I most definitely wasn't going to be his either. I knew I should maybe care about his open display of suspicion – especially given the circumstances. But I'd never given two winks about anyone's opinions before, so I found it senseless to start now. A lifetime of uncaged Henry hate had left me with a skin thick as a rhino's, which was – at times like this – something I was begrudgingly grateful to have.

So even though Detective Jackass was obviously trying to distress me – to make me squirm nervously in my plastic-coated seat – it wasn't working, not one damn bit.

But it _was_ impossible not to appraise him, even under the watch of his penetrating hazel eyes.

Not at all titanish and looming like Eric, Detective Jackass was chin-tuck-hug-tall in a way that demanded presence without appearing the slightest bit unapproachable. He was muscled like he routinely hit up the gym, but not so cut that he looked like he lived there. Mid-twenties at most, his face had an undeniably boyish charm to it despite its chiseled angles and his possibly permanently stern expression.

Admittedly, he was quite the mainstream hottie, a very handsome physical specimen, but he just didn't do it for me – glaring asshole or not.

Truthfully, only one man really did, one that was taken – one I couldn't ever have.

Guilt bubbled painfully in my gut as I remembered exactly why Thalia had buried me in the first place. I tried not to ascribe too much weight to her words, but she used them so rarely, which made them impossible to ignore. According to the little vampire, Eric had wanted to keep me safe. Not treat me with kid gloves, not placate me to appease Ezra. _He_ needed me safe. _Needed_ me. _Me_. Of course, in true Addy form I'd gone and done the exact opposite – almost died of asphyxiation – _and_ then inadvertently exposed myself to potential dangers I couldn't even pretend to comprehend.

 _Well, what else did you expect? You never do anything right_ – Henry's voice chided in my head.

I hated that he really wasn't ever wrong.

"Oh hon, here he is!" Who? Henry? Impossible. "Your lawyer, I mean."

Officer Totally Sincere enthused, clapping her hands together in an emotive show of happiness – yanking me away from my depressive thoughts – responding like an infant child who was just shown her icing-covered birthday cake.

I snapped my gaze away from Detective Jackass and over to the door. In the jamb stood a portly, salt-and-peppered haired man with a tight smile that made me somewhat uneasy. Wary. Mentally, I strained to find his thoughts, but Officer Totally Sincere's were just too loud to filter out. Aggravated, I rubbed at the phantom pain that shot through my temple – the sensation hitting in tandem with his judging gaze. Confidently adjusting the cuffs of his wool suit jacket, he looked me up and down like he was trying to discern if I was truly worth all of the trouble he'd already gone to.

From his unflinchingly vacant expression, I would've bet good money he'd decided _NOPE_.

But again, as always, I would've been wrong.

"If _ANYONE_ has tried to interrogate or question this girl, there _will_ be hell to pay!"

Right then, I could've been knocked over with a feather.

I didn't know who this guy was, but he'd gained a little bit of my trust in that moment – not much but an iota, for sure.

"N-no," Officer Totally Sincere stuttered apologetically, obviously surprised by his abrupt almost accusatory statement, "S-she's been left alone. I-I've been watching over her d-diligently."

I glanced a second look in his direction, after briefly swinging it over to Officer Totally Sincere, inexplicably worried about her sudden change in demeanor – her insecurities abundant in her stammering speech and wavering, hesitant tone. He looked naggingly familiar, and I _knew_ I'd seen him before. But I couldn't place where or when – or why. It wasn't like anyone in the Harding clan had ever used a lawyer before.

Publicly, Henry was as squeaky clean as they came, keeping his nose outta anything that even smelled a whiff like trouble.

Privately, the same could not be said.

"I brought you a music player, Miss Harding," the still unidentified lawyer man said, his hand outstretched and offering me a Walkman that looked suspiciously like the one I'd owned when I'd been alive, "I thought you might appreciate a bit of normalcy during these turbulent times."

Hesitantly, I snapped my blue eyes to his dark grays, searching for his inner voicings. I came up frustratingly short. It was as if I was kicking against a brick wall – definitely blocked from getting in. It unnerved me, more than I was comfortable with, which quickly sent me into a tailspin. Flashes of the silent-minded, murderous fairy man infiltrated my thoughts, followed closely by memories of the aftermath – like a movie reel playing on flash forward. It jolted to an abrupt stop as the image of my recent burial site exploded into my mind – the one I'd _popped_ out of.

I couldn't help but remember the first time I'd wielded magics like that – _Ginny_ – or the terrifyingly tragic events by the shores of White Rock Lake that preceded it.

The fairy man had _also_ initially pretended to be more friend than foe.

I shakily accepted the proffered player without uttering a single word of gratitude – consuming fear having replaced my usually Pavlovian urge to extend polite courtesies.

 _'Miss Harding, I will not let them find you,_ " a gravelly, but tender voice uttered, unexpectedly infiltrating my mind _, 'I will ensure at all costs that you are protected from any harm, and safe from the Fae.'_

Almost involuntarily, I released out an audible sigh of relief, allowing my hackles to slip down as I threw my mental shields up high – like skyscraper high.

Holy shit, my so-called lawyer was also a freaking telepath!

I, for one, had not seen that coming.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"She is _vampire_ and that is that, my ass…"

The short, elvish-looking doctor grumbled in a mocking tone as she poked and prodded at me without mercy like I was merely a walking-talking pin cushion.

She hadn't even bothered to introduce herself first.

Rude.

My demon lawyer, Mr. "Please call me Desmond _"_ Cataliades, had excused himself a few minutes after we arrived here to place a business call, directing the little supernatural doctor to _tread lightly_ in his absence. Apparently her definition of _lightly_ was much different from mine – if her unrelentingly, surprisingly painful ministrations were any indication. In fact, I was beginning to think she was testing the limits of my patience – and stoicism – intentionally.

"Ouch!"

I exclaimed as she stuck me for what felt like the hundredth time in her quest to find a vein.

 _Seriously, was she even really a doctor?!_

"You know, your pain tolerance is exceptionally high, girlie. Even for a vampire. Well… a partial one, I should say."

 _A lifetime of conditioning._

I thought darkly to myself, shrugging instead in response to the woman's words – from what I'd seen so far, the title of doctor didn't fit.

With a sudden and newfound ease, she successfully stabbed the needle into the crook of my elbow, attaching a small vessel to other side to collect some of my blood.

So she _had_ been purposefully fucking with me.

What a jerk.

"Part-vampire?"

I asked with more than a hint of feigned incredulity in my voice, etching a deep furrow in my brow in an effort to uphold the pretense I wasn't exactly buying what she was selling.

Even though the answer was abundantly, almost perfectly clear.

 _Of course_ , I wasn't fully, 100% vampire.

"Tell me, Sookie…"

"Addy," I interrupted instantly, more than a bit annoyed she'd avoided answering my question, "I prefer to be called Addy."

"Tell me, _Addy_ ," she amended, pulling her circle-lensed glasses off her nose to wipe at nonexistent smudges, "When was the last time you had a live donor?"

 _A… what_ now _?_

"A _what_?"

I replied blankly, repeating my own thoughts as true confusion swept across my normally controlled expression.

What the hell was a live donor?

After sliding her spectacles back into place, the little doctor removed the needle from my arm, pressing a small ball of cotton against the small wound as it closed. Satisfied I'd healed, she swabbed the spot clean, completely ignoring my gaping expression. She snapped off her rubber gloves – first one and then the other – moving away to discard everything into a trash can marked for medical waste. After closing the red-colored lid, she turned back towards me and continued her strange inquisition.

"When was the last time you fed from a human being?"

Okay, so live donor equaled human; that made sense.

But also… _gross_!

"Never!" I exclaimed with disgust, crinkling my nose like I'd be assaulted by a noxious smell to punctuate the depth of my distaste for the idea, "I don't really get very hungry anyways, but I don't think I could handle biting someone. _I_ was bitten once..."

"Twice," she corrected me, illustrating herself by holding up two fingers. The middle, then the pointer each curled down as she expounded on her statement, "Once when Northman tried to turn you and again when Godric succeeded."

Had there been any color in my face, surely it would have drained right out.

"But my blood is poisonous…"

I whispered not so much to the nosy doctor, but to myself, shocked to think I'd prolly done to Ezra what Pam had said I'd done to Eric – almost killed him, and he'd never even mentioned it.

All the anger I'd held for Ezra melted away in that instant.

I bit back the urge to cry as shame threatened to envelope me, wrap me up, and swallow me whole.

" _Was_."

The doctor woman retorted, offering me no context to chew on, which simultaneously vaulted me out of my spiraling descent towards depression and back into the present.

" _Was_ poisonous."

She expounded as she shook a clear vial that held my blood now mixed with an unknown liquid, clearly amused by my unmasked scowl.

She was really starting to piss me off.

Usually it took so much more than this to push my buttons, but I was exhausted – usually during this time of day I'd be dead to the world, sleeping.

"Not _IS_. _Was_. Ugh! We have gotten off track…"

"Yes, a twig and some ash… Yes, then rebury everything…" Mr. Cataliades confirmed to whoever was on the other side of the phone as he waltzed back into the white-walled room with a pleased smirk grabbing at his otherwise hard expression, "That should do it for now… Yes, this must be completed before nightfall… Yes, and call me once you have finished… Thank you. Goodbye."

He flipped the device closed and quickly stowed it in his pocket, striding across the small room to take the chair placed next to the exam table I was sitting on.

Once Mr. Cataliades and I had left the police station, I'd remembered exactly where I knew him from.

He was the man on the plane who'd shown me kindness, only hours before I'd died.

"Doctor Ludwig," so she _did_ have a name – I had been starting to doubt it, "how is she?"

Numb mostly.

But in fairness, I _was_ having a crazy-ass day.

"Physically?" Ludwig asked plainly, enunciating each syllable – but not slowly – earning a small nod of his head, "She is _fascinating…_ " The awe in her tone could not be ignored, but I hated it all the same – I was a person, not a case study, "She is dead mostly, but also alive in some respects, _AND_ she has restraint comparable to a being thousands upon thousands of years old. Honestly, I've never seen, or even heard of, anyone quite like her."

"But you said you had unearthed a long-buried case concerning another hybrid!"

Mr. Cataliades clipped out sharply, irritation rife in his tone, as he stood up with his arms aggressively crossed against his chest and tapped his wing-tipped shoe expectantly against the linoleum tiled floor.

 _Another_ hybrid… wait, there was someone else out there like me?

Suddenly, I was nothing but ears, leaning forward as if I might miss something otherwise – curious and alert as all get out to learn more.

* * *

"The police will expect you to give a statement – about where you have been and what happened to you during the time you were missing."

Mr. Cataliades explained calmly, his cool demeanor belied only by his white-knuckled grip on the jet-black leather steering wheel of his midnight blue Cadillac sedan.

I stifled the urge to yawn in response.

I'd managed to sleep through the night, but this whole "being awake during the day" thing was obviously taking its toll on me – taxing to say the least.

I hoped it'd become less so with time.

"The humans," he continued, having previously elaborated on the invisible line drawn between the human and supernatural world, "have been led to believe a serial killer called the Berzerker is to blame. The evidence they have accumulated against him is irrefutable, iron-clad – the bloody shirt all but clinched it. The entire cover-up was actually quite easy to orchestrate… for once."

 _Eric's cornflower blue shirt._

The one that I took out of the hospital trash can and shoved under my mattress.

I thumbed absentmindedly at the bottom of my light grey tank top, drinking in his words as they washed over me – lie; he was asking me to flat-out lie.

And for some reason, it was bothering me – more than I would've ever expected.

I didn't know why.

I lied all the time, before I'd died as well as after. As naturally as breathing. Without a second thought, or a backwards glance. It'd never been something that tugged hard at my guilt strings, but now… now I felt like it was shifty and wrong, like I'd be taking it all one step too far.

Did I not deserve to be punished for my crimes?

For killing Ginny?

"No," Mr. Cataliades answered sternly, giving voice to my unasked questions without glancing even momentarily in my direction – he was driving, after all, "You should not be punished under the humans' notion of the law," he paused, pinching his nose in consternation, "But do not mistake this pretense for absolution or an official pardon, Miss Harding – you will have a court to answer to. Just not this one."

He'd been doing a lot of mind-slipping during the past twenty-four hours.

The tables had really been flipped on me, and I didn't like it one bit.

"If you would be more honest and open, as I have been, I would not be so intrusive."

He explained after unapologetically committing the _same_ infraction once again, invading my thoughts without even a fleeting one of his own available to me, like a vault locked up tight – like I'd always been.

I felt like an enormous hypocrite.

But surprisingly, I was okay with that revelation.

"Surely, you can see the futility in any efforts to be this secretive, Miss Harding," Mr. Cataliades gritted out exasperatedly, huffing out a small but emotion-filled breath as he flipped on the car's blinker and took a right turn, "Please. Talk. To. Me."

"I don't know what to say."

I shrugged, curling my jeaned legs up in the seat and into my chest, wrapping my arms around my knees almost protectively.

And I really didn't.

Unlike Dr. Ludwig's annoyingly unilluminating theories about hybrids, Mr. Cataliades – who apparently was my grandfather's demonic best friend, and my godfather – had been a veritable fountain of information, sharing everything he knew with me this morning. A brief history of my Fae ancestry. The origin of my apparently demonic gift. Why I'd been put up for adoption, and how he'd found me so quickly after I'd popped into the sun. _Police scanners, infinitely useful for lawyers –_ even those of his caliber apparently. He'd been an open book, and I'd listened with rapt attention. Once he'd finished, I was speechless, barely unable to form coherent thoughts – let alone questions or words.

It'd all been incredibly overwhelming.

Expectedly so.

Not just because of the subject matter, but because no one had ever been so forthcoming with me. I'd almost always had to use the gift of my telepathy to get to the bottom of things. It'd become almost a crutch, the thing I leaned on to tell me what was truth and what was lies – especially those of omission.

Because everyone lied.

Everyone hid things deep inside themselves like me.

"You are correct, Miss Harding," Mr. Cataliades mused, breaking me from my internal ramblings just as he began to look back to reverse into a parking spot – our destination apparently upon us, "People do not disclose their personal histories with everyone they meet. Nor should they. Trust should _not_ be freely given. But what I want you to consider is why you choose not to give it to _anyone_ , including those who _desperately_ try to earn it. Why you are actively _choosing_ to suffer alone."

 _Huh_ , I had never thought about it that way, which in turn gave me a great measure of pause.

Once again, Mr. Cataliades had rendered me speechless.

"And please, Miss Harding, call me Desmond."

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

 _"You're free to go, Miss Harding."_

The words of the Dallas supernatural council – which was apparently _a thing_ , despite how ludicrous it had sounded to me at first blush – echoed on repeat in my mind as I pulled out all of the necessary ingredients from the fridge.

Everything in the past couple of weeks had been so surreal, like I'd been living in a fever dream.

That moment had simply been more of the same.

After my meeting with the human authorities, Desmond's hand clutched tightly in mine – a surprisingly grounding experience – he'd driven us back to his home, insisting I stay with him until everything calmed down. Truthfully, I didn't know where else I could've gone anyways. I had no idea how to contact Ezra, and the door connecting us in my head was still irritatingly wedged shut. I considered hot-footing it back to Louisiana – or trying that popping thing again, maybe – because Eric could definitely help me find him. But from what Desmond had said I couldn't exactly disappear right away without causing a stir.

So until things cooled off I was stuck playing human.

It hadn't really been a heavy lift.

 _"You're free to go, Miss Harding."_

I cracked an egg against a small gray ceramic bowl, discarding the shell into the sink after emptying its contents. Whisking the whites and yolks with a bit of milk, I mused back on the meeting, guilt roiling in my gut as memories swarmed my thoughts. I'd thought that I deserved to pay for my crimes, for killing my sister _Ginny_. But apparently _everyone_ else had a different take on what'd happened.

Even Detective Ryan Jax, who – by his own admission – had originally been squared against me.

We were friends _now_ , but he'd still started out as a jackass.

 _"But I did it!" I'd screamed, bloody tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as Desmond deliberately squeezed my hand, asking me not to continue– I ignored his silent plea, "I killed my sister."_ Ginny _. "It's my fault! I should be in trouble! It's all my fault!"_

I hadn't wanted any absolution.

So I'd opted for a "self-preservation be damned" approach instead.

 _"I am sorry that you feel that way, Miss Harding," Detective Jax had responded gently, his expression softening exponentially as he offered me a pitying smile, "but from even your own accounts, this tragedy was unavoidable – inevitable, in fact. There was nothing you could've done."_

Nothing I could've done.

Gosh, how I'd wanted to believe that.

 _"Nothing? You're sure?"_

 _I'd squeaked out, suddenly feeling small but also the tiniest bit hopeful – all but itching in the moment to slough off the guilt blanket that had been wrapped around me so tightly for so long._

 _"Miss Harding, unless you stabbed yourself in New Orleans, which was the catalyzing event that set this whole thing into motion, you are not to blame. Even if your fairy powers had not been ignited, your adoptive father still would've snapped. If anything, you are very lucky to be alive. Thank the Gods, your vampire brother was there to give you blood. Otherwise, you would certainly be dead – truly dead – as well."_

I couldn't argue with that sort of logic – Henry _had_ always been a powder keg ready to explode.

So I guess I really did need to thank God for Eric.

Words I'd never expected to say.

"You know you cannot eat that, Miss Harding," Desmond chided me lightly, dragging me back into the here and now, as he stepped from the living room into his kitchen space, a cold cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other, "Like your other attempts, it will go to waste."

I frowned slightly, stilling the whisk in the bowl. I hated to throw out perfectly good food, but I'd been desperately needing the calm that cooking seemed to bring me.

"I dunno. Maybe the good detective will eat them…"

"Your cooking, kid? Not _likely_ ," Jax interrupted playfully, nodding his good morning to Desmond as he entered through the house's back door – using the key he'd been given – before reaching out to muss up my loose tresses, "Last time, your eggs were so overcooked it felt like I was chewing on a rubberband…"

"But a yummy-tasting rubberband, right?"

I razzed him back with an overdramatic eye roll, flinging a bit of the whisked mixture at him after he poked me puckishly in the side.

Desmond loudly tsked in mock disapproval, not-so-secretly pleased at our display – his now-open thoughts signaling how happy it made him to see me at ease.

Smiling like I wasn't just a dead girl walking around and playing alive – like I'd almost forgotten that fact.

It was amazing how much had changed after just a few short weeks.

The Dallas supernatural council had agreed that the details of my specific brand of _otherness_ should be kept under wraps. _She can't just disappear again without rousing suspicion._ So until I went back to the night – where vampires did their own thing, society-wise… _surprise_ _surprise_ – Detective Jax was on sabbatical leave, acting as my protective detail so the council could keep eyes on me, while Desmond had been appointed as my temporary legal guardian. I'd been all but ordered to stick around for the next month and change – until I turned eighteen in late June.

Did vampires even celebrate birthdays?

I guessed, like so many other things, I was going to find out the hard way.

"Okay, but seriously…"

I feigned stubbornness, pouring the eggy mixture into the already hot pan before placing my hands on my fuzzy pajama-covered hips and glaring with all my might first at Jax, then Desmond – earning a booming laugh in response from both men.

"Which one of you is going to risk life and limb…" I paused for dramatic effect, making a show of ignoring the now bubbling heap of yellow goo, "to taste-test these damn eggs?"

* * *

"Have you ever manipulated _my_ emotions?"

I asked Jax pointedly, curious to learn not only more about his gift, but if he'd been the actual cause of my carefree attitude as of late.

Fingers-crossed, I hoped he wasn't.

Being content for once was nice – different.

Desmond had left for work shortly after almost choking on some unfortunately inedible eggs, leaving Jax and I with the house to ourselves. Having no desire to traipse around town, just like I hadn't most other days – fearful of becoming too well known – had left us here, in Desmond's theatre room sprawled out on his black leather sectional couch. The television was on, some talk show flashing between camera views in the background, but the volume low enough to be considered on mute.

I'd decided this otherwise boring moment, brought to us by daytime TV, could be used to chat about something I had a particular interest in.

Like how far-reaching Jax's empathic powers really were.

"I've tried," He admitted honestly with a shrug, not ashamed to own up to it, "But despite being easy to read, you're tough to influence, kid. I'm betting it's that hard head of yours."

He gently knocked on the top of my noggin, clucking with his tongue to imitate the sound of struck wood, trying to prove his point.

I couldn't help but think it _prolly_ had more to do with my securely built telepathic shields, reinforced more recently by the drills Desmond had been putting me through, but I held my tongue.

Jax didn't know, on top of everything else, I'd also been blessed with the gift of reading minds.

In fact, since losing my family, no one other than Desmond did.

My godfather and I had agreed – without even the pretense of debate between us – that it'd be best to play that particular card close to the vest, especially during the council proceedings. He'd been quick to explain that supernaturals, much like human beings, were mighty touchy – vampires especially – about having their private thoughts invaded. Even though I'd normally consider what he'd said to be a broad stroke assumption, unfair to apply to a _whole_ population, I didn't even bother to argue with him.

Because it made perfect sense, since I _really_ hated being listened in on, too.

I relied on that particular power less and less each day – it just seemed like the right thing to do.

" _Orrrrrr_ …"

I elongated the word like it was saltwater taffy, veritably pulling it apart in the air with my fingers.

" _Maaayyybbbee_ … _you're_ just not very good at it."

"Better watch that smart mouth of yours, kid," Jax teased with an impish glean in his hazel eyes, tickling at the soles of my bare feet – making me jerk my legs back as I burst out laughing, "My dad may have been human, but my mom was a _succ-u-bus_ ," I rolled my eyes, pretending to be unimpressed by his over-annunciation, "Us cambion demons _know_ how to throw down."

 _Bring. It. On._

I thought challengingly as I willed my feelings to mirror the same.

Without warning, a plush cushion came flying at my face, and I blurred off the couch to avoid the soft blow. Jax's Cheshire cat smile was a mile wide as he grabbed another pillow and flung it at my form. I caught it with ease, returning the throw at vamp speed – hitting him dead center in the chest. _Thank goodness, he's supernaturally strong, too._ Then he fell back onto the sofa in mock defeat, feigning grievous injury as I giggled with unbridled delight.

I still wasn't sure if he'd been entirely truthful about not being able to affect my emotions.

But being happy felt so good, I couldn't have cared less either way.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"Is it okay if I use the account to buy some more music?"

I inquired curiously as I reached into the fridge to grab a bag of my red liquid dinner – finding myself a little peckish for the first time in days.

I rarely ate every day, which I'd been told by Dr. Ludwig was weird for a vampire my age.

Normally, it took a couple of millennia to learn that kind of appetite control.

"Miss Harding, as I have told you time and time again, that money is yours, and yours alone," Desmond reminded me gently – knowing I'd never fully accepted it as my own – before continuing, "You do not need my permission to spend it. I know it made you uncomfortable, accepting the life insurance payout at all, but I wish you would see it like I do – as a form of restitution for what your adopted father did to you," I winced and began to rub absentmindedly at my clothed arms – so he back-tracked, "Legally, that money belonged to you, so now it is yours."

He'd explained it this way before, when he'd asked me to sign the necessary documents to help expedite the settlement process.

I hadn't agreed with the logic a month ago any more than I did now.

"I don't want freakin' blood money..."

I grumbled to myself resignedly, letting my utterance descrescendo into a whisper as I wiped off the corners of my mouth and placed the half-full container back on the top shelf of the fridge.

Thinking of Henry always made me feel sick to my stomach.

Maybe that would never change.

"Addy…"

Desmond chided warningly, casting me a parental-looking glare, his thoughts awash with a mix of disgust and sadness – vehemently disagreeing with my chosen turn of phrase.

"Ready for our run, kid?"

Oh my gosh, he had such perfect timing.

Saved by the Jax.

 _'We will continue this later, Miss Harding.'_

"Yep."

I answered the both of them, adding a little cheekiness by popping the 'p' for effect as I mentally shoved Desmond hard enough to force him out of my mind – a little trick I'd gotten quite good at.

 _Of course_ , the demon lawyer wanted to finish pleading his case.

He always did.

* * *

"Brought you something, kid. Sorta like an early birthday present."

Jax declared as we jogged down the cemented path around White Rock Lake, holding out his two closed hands awkwardly towards me – one of which was curled around the _something_.

I eyed both carefully, avoiding the temptation to ruin the surprise – especially since he was so excited about it that he was giving me my gift two weeks early – by mind-slipping on him.

Apart from Desmond, I tried hard not to listen in on anyone anymore.

"Ummmm… this one."

I selected, tapping his left hand to emphasize my choice, which opened face-up to reveal his empty palm.

Damn.

His other hand unfisted, and I spied an object that while beautifully crafted – obviously handmade – was completely foreign to me. I was stumped as all get out – _what the hell was it_? But I was also incredibly interested in the intricate circled arc-like moon and star pattern carved into the bottom.

A unique blend of day and night – like me.

I loved it.

Jax slowed to a walk and started to tease me a little, obviously using his empathic powers to pick up on my otherwise expertly hidden confusion.

"It's a wax seal stamp, silly! Don't even _try_ to tell me you've never sent someone snail mail. I'm not _that_ much older than you!"

"Who the hell am I gonna write, Jax?" I laughed, taking the item and admiring it, trailing my finger over each indention, "I barely know like five people, let alone where any of them live."

My mind filled with thoughts of Ezra, followed closely by that stupid freaking door.

I'd been wrenching at it off and on for weeks to no avail.

Jax sighed, raking his hand through his short auburn hair, hazel eyes glistening and serious, as his expression morphed into one of heartrending sadness.

"Well, kid, I was hoping you'd write to _me_ … you know, once this whole bodyguard thing is over."

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"It was never my aim to cause harm."

As I stomped towards him, each pounding step sending tremors through the living room's wooden floors, I snorted my derision at his pathetic attempts to placate me.

 _Suuurrre, it wasn't your intention._

Asshole.

"You _keep_ saying that like it makes everything all better! I swear, this is _EXACTLY_ why they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions! BECAUSE IT _IS_!"

If I could've screamed any louder, I would have.

As it was, my vocal cords were aching, on fire from overuse as liquefied rage snaked wildly through my veins – the morning sun's heavy glare doing the opposite of bringing me calm.

It'd been roughly five weeks since Thalia chained and buried me in the swamps of Louisiana. Thirty-seven days and around eleven hours, to be a little more precise – although I hadn't been actively keeping track of the minutes or seconds. No, I'd been too happy, and too distracted to focus so intently on how much time had passed, but it mattered now. More than anything else in the whole freaking world.

Because that was exactly long Ezra had been suffering.

How long he must've believed I was truly dead.

I could've kicked myself for being so stupid, for trusting Desmond every time he told me he hadn't been able to locate Ezra, or convinced me not to go off looking on my own. For believing him when he'd said that vampires were so tight-lipped – a trait I'd unfortunately witnessed firsthand – that hunting down my maker would be akin to trying to locate someone who was in witness protection. For buying his whole bullshit "but I will not stop until we find him" spiel hook, line, and sinker.

That fucking liar.

I didn't really curse much, having been taught a distaste for it while growing up.

But some fucking situations – like this one – practically demanded the use of expletives, as far as I was concerned. I was fuming, almost literally seeing red – my fangs on display and my fingers curled into claws almost outside my own volition. Never in my life had I let fury overtake me – the emotion was foreign and new. I felt possessed, like a wildly angrier version of myself had pushed my more rational self aside and stepped in to all but breathe fire at the irritatingly apologetic-looking demon standing before me.

The same one who'd sheepishly admitted to staging my previous coffin to look like a supernatural crime scene after I'd accused him of lying about Ezra.

After Jax had managed to track down my reportedly mourning maker with relative ease.

Another pre-birthday surprise.

"Confessing your sins because you got caught red-handed doesn't count as being honest!" I snarled at a deafening volume, repeating words I had yelled at him earlier as the memory swept through my mind, "When were you going to fucking tell me?!"

His pitiful, ashamed expression told me everything.

The answer was never.

"In my defense, I had no idea your maker could not feel you..." Desmond mumbled unrepentantly, turning my crimson-tinged vision opaque, testing the tenuous limits of my present control – how _DARE_ he imply this clusterfuck was _MY_ fault, "That is not normal, not usually how it works…"

I lunged at him then, something violent and almost beastly inside me howling for his blood.

Taking charge of me, life and limb, splintering my mind into sharp pieces.

Sometimes – it was hard to describe clearly – the world decelerated from its usual pace, veritably screeching to an uneasy halt. Perhaps from spinning too fast. It mimicked what I'd seen over a thousand times in movies while the main character watched the scene unfold in slow-mo.

This was one of those moments for me.

Thankfully.

I caught myself in mid-air as a buzzing sound vibrated through me. It shot from my head to my toes, dousing me like a cold-water bath. It grabbed me, extinguishing the licking flames, pulling me back from the brink of what was surely about to become destruction. I backed away from Desmond – hands thrown up to deter him from any advancements, choking on air and shaking not from rage, but shock.

Ezra.

The door had been blown wide open, and I could feel him again.

* * *

"Shit, kid. God, this is all my fault. I'm so sorry. I was just trying to do something nice for you…"

I cut off Jax's rambling, but genuinely sincere, apology by placing my hand on his trembling one, hoping he'd understand I didn't blame him in the slightest for Desmond's trespasses.

If anything, he'd done me a great service.

The best thing possible really.

"You're helping me get my maker back," I smiled at him, lifting from my seated position to find my feet – discarding the coffee I'd been pretending to drink in the nearest bin, "You can't even imagine how much that means to me…"

Letting go of my misdirected anger against Ezra had been easy once I'd started to forgive myself for what happened to Ginny.

I was beyond excited to see him, to be with my best friend again.

I'd left Desmond's after packing up the few things I'd acquired during my time in the sun. He'd brooked no argument, aware anything he said would definitely fall on deaf ears. I'd called Jax, who had met me at the backdoor, and – even though its weight had posed no difficulties for me – instantly shouldered the bag I'd been carrying.

Emotionally, he'd done much the same.

Everything was always easier with Jax around.

"So… what's the plan?"

Jax asked me curiously, head cocked to the side, as we moved towards the coffee shop's exit – the door jingling when pushed open.

I couldn't help it, my grin was wide and wicked.

"Well… first," I explained, as I pulled myself up into the passenger side of his black SUV, "we're going to need to purchase some letter-sealing wax and notecards."

Yes, I had all intents to actually spend the night with Ezra once the sun went down.

But I _also_ needed to pop over to the Area Five Court to deliver a letter.

* * *

"You're nervous, kid."

Jax stated plainly, taking my hand into his and squeezing it gently as we sat next to Ginny's grave hours later waiting for the sun to set.

I'd considered going to the address Jax had unearthed, but decided against it when he admitted it was most likely the location of the Area Court – a fact that gave me pause. _King Jameson_. Was that threat truly gone? I'd hoped so, given how much time had passed. But I didn't know, and I really didn't want to find out the hard way that it wasn't.

"Ezra and I didn't exactly part on good terms. The last things I said to him were awful."

I explained guiltily, aware that I'd barely summed up the issues that had existed between me and my maker.

That I'd only touched the tip of the iceberg.

We'd had so many secrets and lies of omission between us – how were we supposed to overcome that?

"From everything you've told me," Jax soothed confidently – which really had been just about _everything_ , "Your maker cares very deeply for you. You've got nothing to worry about."

Another light squeeze, this time accompanied by a small smile.

"I hope you're right."

I professed quietly, as my anxieties ratcheted up – the sun beginning to dip below the horizon – and threw my mental shields down to let the connection I shared with Ezra swamp into my mind.

I'd only blocked him out – with great care in an effort to avoid past mistakes – to save him any wall-crawling moments in case he happened to wake before twilight.

According to Jax, Godric – my Ezra – was over two thousand years old – so that was apparently a real possibility.

There was still so much I needed to learn about him.

"I know I'm right, kid. Trust me," _squeeze_ – then he winked impishly, earning a double eye roll from me, "I've got a _seventh_ sense for these kinds of things."

"Oh, a _seventh_ sense?"

I taunted back playfully as darkness descended around us – the stars coming out to play and twinkle in the midnight blue sky.

It'd been so long since I'd been out at night I'd almost forgotten how beautiful it was.

"He's coming."

I whispered ominously, as I felt Ezra quickly closing the distance between us after tugging at our tie – surprise, hurt, shock, and elation traveling across it without measure.

Not minutes later, he landed with a resounding boom in front of us.

He'd obviously flown here, risked exposure to get to me.

"Sookie," Ezra breathed out like my name was a solemn prayer, his expression a mix of awe and incredulity, "You are here, in the flesh. Thank the Gods, you were not delivered the true death."

My heart broke then, bloody tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

They fell freely as I rose to my feet, dropping Jax's hand.

"No," I agreed through my sobs, throwing my arms about his neck – a hug he returned willingly with glee ringing through our small bond, "I'm not pushing up daisies."

I couldn't remember if I'd taught him that particular idiom.

But his soft chuckle told me I had.

"I must tell Eric post-haste." Ezra mused contemplatively, pulling back from my tight embrace to thumb away the fat tears dripping down my cheeks. "He will be… unburdened," the word seemed carefully chosen, "by the news that you have not passed."

"She sent him a letter earlier."

Jax chimed in hesitantly, not because he was jealous, but because he was trying to make his presence known – visibly uncomfortable at bearing to witness our emotional reunion.

Ezra whipped his phone out of his linen pants, still holding me close as if I'd disappear if he let go of me.

I heard the ringtone cycle not once, but twice.

"Broder," Ezra effused in another language, not waiting for a salutation – although undeniably happy, "det finns inga tusenskönor!" He paused, then repeated himself, "Det finns inga tusenskönor!"

Okay, I hadn't missed _this_.

Being locked out of conversations.

"Läs ditt brev!"

Without ceremony, Ezra ended the call – no goodbye or anything.

 _That_ reminded me what exactly I'd be going back to.

Suddenly, I felt very Harding-like, as if I'd been mentally launched back in time, and my breath caught in my throat. I stifled the urge to let it escape. The overwhelming inclination to revert back to bad habits, to protect myself through silence became palpable – noxious in the air. As I uncurled myself from Ezra's cool form, his curiosity swam through me, and like an overdeveloped reflex, I threw my shields up high.

It was too much, too soon.

I'd only _just_ learned how to be open, to climb outta my mind.

But now it was like I found myself at the foot of Mount Everest, staring up at the summit.

Jax gently pulled me towards him then, and placed his hands squarely on my shoulders, bidding me to gaze into his hazel orbs.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay," he soothed reassuringly, rubbing his hands up and down my arms as I closed my eyes and let out a heavy breath, "Just start small, kid. No one's asking you to boil the ocean."

Baby steps, small bites, one piece at a time…

Okay, I could do this.

"Ezra," I whispered shakily – my nerves lit with electricity – as I stepped away from Jax and reached my hand out to take my maker's before walking us over to stand in front of my sister's final resting place, "This grave belongs to my sister… Ginny."

 _Ginny_.

My heart lurched painfully in my chest; those pangs had never gotten any easier.

"She died… the day I turned you? Is that why you…"

Ezra murmured somberly, as he reverently traced over the carved dates using his free hand – the look in his brown eyes far-off, but full of sadness.

"Tried to kill myself? Yes. No. Sort of? Ugh, I'm going about this all wrong."

I openly chided myself, releasing his hand to sit cross-legged in the short grass – to ground myself physically and mentally before I chickened out.

Because this was the hardest part, ripping off the metaphorical band-aid.

Releasing the lock on Pandora's Box.

I couldn't start anywhere else; it _HAD_ to be here.

Ezra sunk down on my left, so Jax swiftly took the spot on my right, nudging my shoulder as he grasped my hand in his – squeezing again. "Go on, kid. I promise it'll be ok." _Baby steps, small bites, one piece at a time…_ I took a steeling breath, willing myself to admit out loud something I'd never said before. Something maybe I needed to hear as well.

"H-henry – m-my adopted father…"

God, it was almost impossible to get the words out.

I was practically choking on them.

"It is okay, Sookie," Ezra soothed supportively, tenderly stroking at the back of my free hand – the one that I'd dug uneasily into the soil, "You do not owe me your secrets. Just know when you are ready, I will be here to receive them."

I hated that I couldn't seem to say it outright, not yet.

Maybe someday, just not today.

"I want to tell you a story," I said without wavering this time, unwilling to avoid the conversation simply because Ezra'd given me an easy out – _baby steps, small bites, one piece at a time_ , "about the last time I ever broke a plate..."

Progress.

That felt like progress.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm going to ask that no one be too hard on Addy for not taking a bigger step here on her road to recovery. She's got 17 years of conditioning to overcome, so_ really _she's made huge strides._

 _As a survivor of childhood abuse myself, I can tell you one of the_ hardest _things to do is admit to yourself (and others) that your parent – someone who was **supposed** to love and protect you – **actually** abused you, _ and _even though you were told you deserved it, you didn't. Because no one does._

 _Okay, so heavy stuff over. Thanks for reading, and Happy Holidays!_

 _Google Translations:_

 _Det finns inga tusenskönor = There are no daisies_

 _Läs ditt brev = Read your letter_


	14. Hands to Myself – Selena Gomez

_A/N: Please note the content rating change! This story has (FINALLY) been upgraded to an M rating, and this chapter will be earning it! Pretty much right away, so if this bothers you, turn back now. Otherwise, you have been warned. :) Thanks to Rachel Olsen-Williams and MrsKroy for betaing and being all around great friends to me._

 _And a very special thanks to YOU for reading, reviewing, favoriting, or following - whatever it is you do!_

* * *

"People tend to complicate their own lives, as if living

weren't already complicated enough."

\- Carlos Ruiz Zafón

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"Hmmmm," I hummed as I dragged my nose across her soft, alabaster skin, "you smell like sunlight."

She was _here_.

Like the fabled phoenix, she had come back from supposedly final death – to me.

"Do I?"

She giggled back coquettishly while unsuccessfully seeking to suppress the shudder cascading through her petite frame, which terminated as she wiggled her ass against my crotch.

I silently nodded against the crook of her neck, reveling as my light scruff grazed the indents there – my marks – inhaling deeply before darting my tongue out to see if she tasted just as heavenly.

The tiniest 'ohhh' escaped her lips as I lapped at her sweet, delicate flesh – the erotic sound sparking a fire that traveled from my ears straight down to my groin. I palmed my erection, adjusting the bulge as it strained against the zipper of my dark wash jeans, seeking a small respite of comfort. I longed to bury myself deep inside her wet heat, to thrust us both into a state of orgasmic bliss unequaled by any experience prior.

"Was this your diabolical plan all along, Sheriff Northman?"

She teased lightly – the melodic jingle in her tone testing all measures of restraint within me – threatening to weaken my resolve not to tear her clothes off and bend her over the arm of my velvet-lined throne.

"You wound me."

I retorted nonchalantly, feigning insult – earning me a half-hearted slap on one of my thighs, which encased her own since her luscious ass was seated firmly across my lap.

"I would never plot to divest a woman of her virtue. This…"

I breathed out, my cool cheek grazing against hers momentarily as my lips drifted downwards to pepper her jawline with fangy kisses before traveling down her décolletage to the swell of her breasts.

"…was merely…"

 _Kiss_. _Nip_.

"…a stroke…"

 _Nip_. _Kiss_.

"…of good fortune…"

 _Kiss_. _Nip_.

Pointedly flipping her blonde hair over both shoulders, she clenched her legs together, seeking some much needed friction as my hands left their position on the arms of my chair to lazily toy with the hem of her shirt – my fingers slipping underneath every so often to brush against her goose-pimpled flesh. She writhed against me with each _accidental_ touch as tiny pleasure-filled mewls escaped seductively from her slightly-parted supple lips. The scent of her arousal permeated the space like a heady perfume, filling my nostrils with a rich coating that snaked into the recesses of my sex-addled mind to burn delightfully into my memory.

How had I ever left her to her own devices and ignored her for days on end?

She was like a drug I was never going to get enough of.

Pupils blown black with desire, she turned back to shoot me a bewitching smile – her pink tongue sweeping out flirtatiously, begging to be bitten – undoubtedly aware of the effect she had on my libido as she undulated wantonly against my rock-hard length. While pressing my finger pads against her hips with bruising force, a guttural groan crawled up my throat and flew from my mouth involuntarily, spurring her on further – evidently setting her inhibitions ablaze. Suddenly, she twisted around to straddle my waist and rub the apex of her clothed sex against my pant-sheathed member at an almost feverish pace.

I almost lost it right then and there.

 _Fuck me, even fully dressed, she was a tantalizing little minx_!

Lashes fluttering with unbridled lust, still massaging her crotch across my own, she gingerly threaded her fingers through mine, ungluing them from her sides to press our joined hands over her full, heaving breasts. When her hands slipped away, I found myself mesmerized – by their weight in my palms, by the poking peaks of her pert nipples, even by the rapid rise and fall of her cotton-covered chest. In and out. In and out, over and over at a steady cadence that was practically hypnotizing. She was drawing me in like a moth to a flame, pinning and chaining my gaze to the enrapturing exhibition.

Did she know I was about ready to burst?

The wicked glint mirrored in her darkened blue eyes said yes.

She began to tremble below me as her orgasm built, her rolling hips becoming less fluid and more herky-jerky. Her nails sank into the skin of my shoulders – eliciting a primal howl from me – as she hung on for dear life, trying to coax my bliss from me before submitting to her own. When I did not tumble quickly enough for her liking, she leaned forward, whispering dirty nothings as her teeth nibbled sensuously on the hollow of my ear.

" _Ooooh_! Bite me, Eric. Bite… _ERIC_!"

She throatily screamed my name – her dulcet tones strangely replaced with gravel – as I complied and passion devoured her whole, causing her to twitch slightly while fireworks exploded in her clouded eyes.

Unable to hold out any longer, I followed mere seconds behind her.

"ADDY!"

Her name tore from my throat like a husky prayer as my hips bucked and I spurted my seed against the fabric of my pants, my vision blurring as wave after wave of euphoria swept over me.

"Addy?!" The same high-pitched, grating voice shrieked at me from what could not have been more than inches away, "Who the _FUCK_ is Addy?!"

Opening my pressed closed eyes, I was met by wild brown ones attached to a tanned naked woman, positioned over my now softening cock, with blood dribbling from two puncture marks on her neck.

Not. Addy.

WHAT the _fuck_ was that?!

Disgusted with myself – for more reasons than one – I pushed the blonde-haired, brown-eyed blood donor off my lap like she was little more than a bug-infested blanket. My expression remained impassive even as her ass smacked against the cold floor with an echoing slap. But the pathetic creature did not seem to mind one bit. Displaying not one shred of self-respect, my verbal faux pas obviously blown from her mind, the blood bag instantly began to whine and whimper unabashedly, like a puppy who had been denied a tasty treat.

Had I been capable of puking, I might have.

 _Gods, what was wrong with me!?_

"Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here."

I growled menacingly, hiking my black dress pants up over my hips, zippering the fly at vampiric speed before disappearing from the Area's private feeding room into the back office – not sparing one glance back at the mistake I had left in my wake.

Once the door slammed behind me, I stifled the urge to slump to the floor, to succumb to the alien surge of emotions coursing through out my form. This wasn't me! I was Sheriff Eric fucking Northman for fuck's sake! Pushing down the foreign and fungal feelings, I crossed the small space and sank into my office chair to shuffle through the paperwork on my desk.

I decided to forget the whole thing and let my work consume me instead.

After all, it was the vampire thing to do.

* * *

Having comfortably dressed for a casual night-in, I slowly descended the wooden staircase, relishing the silence veritably echoing off the painted walls, jumping over the final warped step to avoid its grating squeak. It was one of the few architectural flaws in my Shreveport abode, and I really needed to get it fixed. _Someday_. Landing with a quiet thud, I found my eyes drawn upwards towards the second floor, to the door that had secured Addy's room when she had lived here, with me and Pam. My upside-down world had twirled right-side up the second I had discovered Addy was still alive, but the pangs of her absence had surprisingly continued to plague me.

Regardless of anything else, she did not live here anymore, and likely she never would again.

I still could not pinpoint why it bothered me as much as it did.

But I chalked it up to the same ennui that had wrapped itself around me like a snake long before I had brought Pam to my side, the tedium that had become almost distracting – had become my life. Pam had been a wonderful child, everything I had hoped for – full of fire and cheek, an invigorating challenge and devoted friend – but she was not my bonded mate.

Over the years, my soul had practically ached from the deprivation.

But I had learned to ignore its pain, swallow it whole.

I cast my gaze away from _that_ door specifically, and stomped towards the kitchen, itching for a live feed but willing to settle for a bag of semi-fresh blood. My hospital connection kept me supplied regularly, although I had always preferred a willing donor prior to Addy's appearance in my life. Her squeamishness regarding her vampire diet had affected my own adversely, even if it had at times brought a small smile to my otherwise placid countenance.

Because at times, I had secretly yearned to be the source of her sustenance instead.

 _She is not yours, Northman. Calm the fuck down._

As I pulled the plasma-filled container from the fridge, I spied an object on the kitchen counter in the corner tucked behind several errant papers that I had overlooked during the past several weeks – Addy's flip phone. Thalia must have lifted it from her before the whole unpleasantness, or Addy had left it after Pam attacked her. Either way, it was here, which was not where I wanted it to be. As I sank my fangs through the bag's plastic barrier, I decided to call Godric to arrange for the phone to find its way back into her possession.

If she had it, I could track her – find her if something were to happen again.

She would be connected to me, even if only by a cellular contract.

Having made my decision, in spite of the fact the sun was still setting – twilight nipping at its heels – I dialed my maker's number, knowing he would most certainly be up – an advantage afforded to him by his two thousand years. The ringtone did not even complete a full cycle before Godric answered – surprise evident in his tone, and also in our maker-child bond.

He rarely blocked his emotions from me.

"Broder, is everything okay?"

Godric expressed worriedly, his concern for my well-being more open and exposed than I would have expected prior, especially since he continued to speak in English.

Ordinarily he switched to Swedish when discussing even semi-private topics.

"Everything is fine," I lied deftly, hoping to side-step the topic entirely, "but I want to return Addy's phone to her. She left it here in Louisiana and it contains contacts I am sure she would like to reach," I paid no heed to the bubbles of anger that rose as I thought about the dog she used to run with, "Should I drop it in the mail to the Area address?"

"No, that would not work," Godric responded negatively, his incredulity knocking me for a loop, "After what happened with King Jameson, we both agreed it would be best if she did not stay at the Area Court. Therefore, until I secure a new residence, she will be living with her cambion demon friend, Ja…"

"WHAT?!"

I boomed in my native tongue, the speaker of my cellular phone aggravatingly too small – much to my chagrin – to capture the resounding echo that followed my angry scream.

"Was my word choice unclear?" Godric responded in perfect English – the continued deviance from our usually translated exchanges not lost on me – without a hint of mockery or sarcasm in his quizzical timbre, genuinely concerned I had misunderstood him, "Should I attempt to rephrase, Broder?"

I tamped down the urge to sigh in frustration, after all it was not my maker's fault my temper had been ignited into burning blue flames – it was _hers_.

Although I knew inherently no matter which direction I released my ire he would appreciate my surly demeanor with equal measure.

Not in the fucking slightest.

" _You_ are allowing Addy," the traitorous utterance caught in my throat as I struggled to banish the accusation from my tone – incredibly disgusted, and strangely bothered, by what he had divulged, "…who had been missing, presumed _dead_ … to _live_ on her own," though stilted, my markedly impassive voice returned, "with a cambion demon she has identified as her… _friend_."

I spit out the last word like it was poison on my tongue.

Perhaps in some ways, it was.

"There is much you are not privy to, _Eric_ …"

The edge in his voice carried an unmistakable warning.

One I heeded.

"Where _was_ she?"

I inquired quietly in Swedish, not wanting the answer, as I raked my hand aggressively through my blonde locks and pulled harder at the strands and my scalp than necessary to finger-comb for any potential tangles.

"Dallas," Godric chuckled as if it was an amusing discovery she had been so close, like his fatalistic feelings during her absence had been trifling or minor, instead of fucking scary, "Right under my nose, as Sookie would say."

"Was she… _harmed_ in any way?"

I asked reticently, telling myself my inquiry was necessary to gauge the continued length of Pam's current punishment – her month-long exile to Europe to be retrained by Thalia.

Although it most certainly could have provided it, I told myself that I did not care to know the answer for my _own_ reprieve or peace of mind.

In fact, I had repeated it so many times I believed it, too.

But with each passing second of silence, I doubted my own delusions, and the roaring tide of anger swelled through me again, threatening to sweep me away with it. Perhaps this was why my maker had been so tight-lipped about the whole thing, because Addy had been grievously injured. I tamped down the desire to pace and stomp about my kitchen space. Instead I clenched my fists, curling my fingers too tightly around the phone clutched in my twitching palm. The device groaned its displeasure, veritably begging me to release it or otherwise put it out of its misery. Surely, my maker could feel how the suspense was affecting me.

Why was it so quiet?

Had he muted the fucking line?!

"Hey, Eric," Addy greeted me cheerily, her sweet melodic tone breaking the almost viscous silence – the sound of her voice caging my blood lusting demon instantly. "Ezra says you're kinda worried about me. Didn't you get my letter?"

For a second, I embraced the relief that washed over me like an icy bath before irritation returned.

Godric was keeping _her_ secrets, but sharing _mine_?!

"Yes, _Sookie_ ," I bit out condescendingly – swapping from Swedish back to English – openly pointing my frustrations squarely in her direction, "I got your _fucking_ letter, daisy bullshit and all."

A week ago; seven fucking slow-crawling nights.

Perhaps I was _also_ a little vexed that I had not heard anything from her since then – among other things.

"O- _kay_ , _Drew_ " she enunciated slowly, obviously bothered by my clipped response – acting like the _irriterande lilla fairie_ she was by addressing me by that detestable moniker, "I meant the one I drop… had someone leave on your porch yesterday..." I remained silent, rising from the counter stool to vamp to the front door, where the last note had apparently been left – my eyes flicking left and right – finding nothing before she huffed out exasperatedly, "Well, isn't that why you called?"

Actually I had called under the flimsy guise of coordinating the return of her cellular phone, which Thalia had divested her of prior to burial.

A thin pretense I expected my maker had seen right through.

"Of course, _Sookie_ … I received your _other_ fucking missive."

I lied coolly, if not a bit coldly – perturbed only slightly that I could not fully suppress the sarcasm that threatened to drip from my tone – as I continued to search outside for the alleged message.

" _And_?" she prodded pointedly, giving me nothing to work with – the content of her afore-written request a veritable mystery to me, "I just need to know eith…"

"I would be happy to."

I interrupted her, speaking tersely through gritted teeth as I stepped back inside – my outside search having ended fruitlessly – with no idea what I was _actually_ agreeing to, although if something was important to Addy, it was likely a priority for Godric, too.

Whatever my maker wanted, I gave to him – no questions asked.

 _Like you would be doing it for him_ , my subconscious chided me mercilessly.

" _Oh_!" Addy replied almost suspiciously, but with embarrassment rife in her tone, "I just expected you'd say no…"

"Well, I am _sorry,_ " I mocked callously, sneering although she could not see my scornful expression, "to have disappointed you, _Sookie_. But I must say, you wound me..."

I barked out, feigning offense as my mind drifted back to a disturbing – albeit, satisfyingly erotic – daydream I had spent countless hours trying to forget.

Perhaps at my core, I was truly a masochistic being.

It would explain so many things.

"Sorry, Eric," she mumbled apologetically, " _Sooooo_ , thanks in advance for making sure Thalia's gonna be at my 18th birthday party in a couple weeks. I really appreciate it, and I'll see you both there!"

 _Wait... what the fuck?!_

Had I, Sheriff of Area Five, just agreed to become a glorified errand boy?

Apparently, yes – yes, I fucking had.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

 _"_ Would you say she's more of a blue or a pink girl?"

I stood next to a table piled full of clothes mulling over this query for longer than I cared to admit.

Because, according to the insipid raven-haired saleswoman, the answer to this question was the key to choosing the perfect birthday gift for Addy.

Godric had insisted forcefully, just short of issuing a maker's command, that I practice this ridiculous human ritual – participate in celebrating the impossible milestone of aging to eighteen not only with my presence, but with _presents_. So here I was a week before the party, at the Louisiana Boardwalk, doing one of the most detestable things known to man – shopping. Truly, I could not have been _more_ out of my element; this was surely Pam's domain, not mine.

 _I should have made_ her _do this once she returned with Thalia tomorrow night._

But for Pam this would have been a reward of sorts, and she was still near the top of my shit list – so I was stuck soldiering on instead.

"I do not know whether she is particularly partial to one over the other."

I admitted resignedly, acknowledging out loud – while also to myself – that I had learned very little about what pleased Godric's child, despite her lengthy stay at my house.

What I _had_ unearthed had only explained what, or more aptly _who_ , had caused her pain – _Henry_.

That piece of shit son of a fucker.

"Well that's o-okay," the saleswoman replied, stuttering slightly, "We can start backwards then. How is this… girl related to you? Let's start there. She's not your… girlfriend? Is... she?"

Everyone within a ten foot radius surely heard the disappointment in her voice.

While my own – that of course _she_ was not – remained completely veiled.

"She is my…" the moniker of "sister" stuck on my tongue like a blood-sucking leech, refusing to expel itself from my mouth – I hated to characterize her as such, "...brother's child."

That was a slightly more palatable way to describe my relationship to Addy.

But even it tasted foul and wrong.

"So, your _niece_. Oh! Well that's easy then!" the saleswoman enthused brightly, pushing her tits out like a bitch in heat – her previously fake smile suddenly broad and reaching her darkening gray eyes, "And how old is she gonna be? Five? Six?"

 _As vampire? Less than one._

I thought humorlessly, irritated that Godric was considering her human age at all.

I staunchly believed that letting Addy celebrate her human birth was practically a spit in the face to her new nature. Godric knew, almost as well as I did, how perilous it could be to allow a baby vamp to fervently long for his past. He had seen the results of such negligence firsthand, yet he was marching down a similar path – sure the destination had changed.

As for me, I feared Addy might turn out like Thad.

His overly lax upbringing had been a regrettable mistake I had made several centuries ago – long before I brought Pam to my side.

"She is turning eighteen."

I hissed at the wide-eyed saleswoman – as politely as possible – while thumbing at the soft cotton fabric of a periwinkle sweater folded up on top a cherry-wooded display table.

Like the one _she_ had worn to the carnival.

Why had I imagined this trip might be anything other than a hellish stroll down memory lane?

"Oh wow… your brother must be _a lot_ older than you then."

 _You have no idea_.

My teeth were gritted so tight – having inadvertently churned the simmering rage in my gut into a bubbling boil – I could have chewed through paned glass.

An uneasy, but welcomed silence followed for several minutes, until it was finally breached.

"I'm _Trish_ , by the way..."

The overly attentive saleswoman cooed flirtatiously, fluttering her thick mascaraed eyelashes at me as she trailed the tips of her scorching-red fake-nailed fingers temptingly down her chest to the exposed swell of her tanned breast.

Trish's brazen wantonness barely had me at half-mast, but I really was in desperate need of a fuck and feed – a mind-numbing release.

Plus, she was a certain blue-eyed blonde's antithesis, her veritable polar opposite, in all ways.

Trish slathered her face with what Pam had called pancake makeup, hiding any and all blemishes possibly speckled about her countenance, while _she_ always opted for a natural look, a minimalist approach. Trish's clothes were a little _too_ tight, clinging to her almost like a second skin – putting all her womanly assets undeniably on display – while _she_ definitely opted for comfort above all else. But moreover, Trish was not my maker's newest child, forever beholden and belonging to another being.

While _she_ would always be _just_ outside my reach, and that pretty much clinched it for me.

Perhaps this was _exactly_ what I needed to forget the object of my twisted obsession.

"You know I think I have just what you're looking for," Trish whispered salaciously, licking the seam her plump coral-stained lips as she strutted towards me – her black front-laced heels clicking against the linoleum floor, "In fact, I can help you with uh… _all_ your needs tonight...if you like."

I did _not_ like it, not really – _not one bit_.

But I desperately wanted to stop yearning for someone that was not destined to be mine.

"As it turns out, there is only _one_ thing here that interests me."

I purred suggestively, gesturing my opened palm around the space to pass over the racks of junk and clothes proliferating it – landing my sweeping hand and pointed gaze directly on _Trish_.

I decided I would concern myself with Addy's birthday gift later.

For now, my attentions were focused elsewhere.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

The engine of my Lexus LX SUV roared loudly as it barreled down I-20 towards Dallas, speeding down the asphaulted path at nearly a ninety mile-per-hour clip – only twenty-five miles above the posted nighttime limit. But in truth, I was not trying to get anywhere fast. The randomly intervaled _bump-bump_ of the performance tires against the sometimes cracked terrain was our only musical companion for the night since my desire to tune into the scratchy frequencies reachable in this dead-zone of space was none whatsoever.

After one and a half hours of relative peace, the silence was broken, shattered like crystal with sharp stalagmite-shaped barbs left in its wake.

Thanks to one thoroughly pissed-off and hot-headed blonde.

"Why the fuck do I have to wear this Econo-mart discount shit, Eric?"

Pam grimaced embarrassingly from the passenger seat next to me, tugging with pinched fingers at the black and white dot-patterned polyester dress like it was steel wool dragging roughly against her skin.

Even though I had given no indication her punishment was complete, Pam's reappearance at my side had given her a brash sort of hope that her European tutelage had drawn to a close.

Foolishly, she had been acting just as bratty as ever – pushing her imagined luck at every pass.

My child had been back a paltry number of days, and yet in that short amount of time, I had realized, much to my chagrin, just how deeply I had spoiled her. While Thalia had reported good progress in Europe – that Pam was developing some semblance of responsibility, losing her propensity to throw tantrums like a human child – it seemed all gained ground was lost the moment she arrived back in Shreveport. She had even openly sneered when I had informed her of Addy's party plans, vocally disapproving of the affair altogether.

Because of _that_ disrespectful remark, she had lost all privileges, and access, to her lavishly opulent designer wardrobe.

Yet, here she was, complaining she had not been allowed to wear anything other than the dime-store garb, as if the reason had not already been made abundantly clear.

"You learn _slow_ , Northman child," Thalia chimed in from the backseat – supersonic senses allowing us to still hear her even over the motor's loud grind – her usually blank, matter-of-fact tone harsh with snarled annoyance, "We go back Europe tomorrow night after Addy party. Thalia still fix you."

" _Eric_?"

Pam entreated questioningly – shocked and, unless I was mistaken, moderately scared by Thalia's interjection – swinging her head to gape at me with saucer-eyes, visible only in my periphery.

My gaze stayed unflinchingly glued to the front windshield, watching with rapt attention as the blurred foliage and road whipped by.

In the last few centuries, I had never been so disappointed in my progeny, or in myself.

"Pamela," I growled darkly as my hands white-knuckled the black leather steering wheel, "Do not mistake your presence in this vehicle – or in my home – for forgiveness. Your petulant behavior has been allowed to persist for much too long, a mistake I intend to have remedied once and for all."

I glanced up at the rearview mirror just in time to see the usually steely little Greek vampire smirk smugly before her countenance returned inexpressive.

At least _one_ of the vehicle's three occupants seemed to be enjoying herself.

The summer winds hissed around the SUV's smooth curves, proliferating the small space with echoing _whooshes_ that hung like stale smoke clouds in the tension-filled air. Thank the Gods none of us had cause to breathe because the heavy atmosphere was practically suffocating. Uncomfortable, and unwilling to admit it audibly, or inaudibly for that matter – blocking my maker-child bond with Pam – I ignited the button to roll down the driver's side window, letting the hot humid airstream infiltrate our shared space.

Frustrated by the whole situation in general, I wondered off-handedly if this night was destined to be one of the most unpleasant of my entire existence.

Because the way it had shaped up so far, the outlook was not quite so good.

* * *

Less than an hour later, having passed by Dallas proper to continue on 1-20 west towards the address Godric had given me – since my own invitation had unnervingly never showed up – I continued down the concrete path, waiting for Thalia to inform me of my next maneuver. A turn revealing itself up ahead, Thalia jabbed her bony finger into my shoulder, wordlessly bidding me to turn right down the dirt road path. Her second poke – _and her last if she wanted to keep that finger_ – apparently indicated a quick left.

I complied with her rudely-expressed requests only out of respect for Godric.

Surely, he would punish me if I lost my cool at Addy's birthday party.

Disturbed by the vehicle's rapid speed, finely-ground dirt kicked up into a cloudy mess in our wake. It swirled in circles, kissing the curves of my black Lexus LX after passing through the tires' deep treads. The buzzing sound brought me a modicum of peace, acting as a veritable white noise, as my anxieties vaulted – the drive almost at its close.

I almost wished I could prolong the already lengthy expedition.

Even though I knew my two passengers assuredly did not feel the same.

I decelerated as we approached a long gravel driveway, the weather-worn numbered mailbox confirming we had reached our final destination. Turning right once more, we slowly crawled towards a peeling wrought-iron gate, supported on both sides by barbed wire and a wooden-staked fence that surrounded the expansive property. I stopped right in front of it, sweeping my gaze left to right.

The next house was visible at almost a mile away.

This place was the epitome of remote.

Thalia virtually sprang from the vehicle, throwing open her door as the SUV squealed to a shaky stop. She promptly blurred to the rope-closed gate, unspooling the braided obstruction to swing it open forcefully – the barrier ending its half-moon arc with a clambering _bang_. In seconds, she was back inside, treating my vehicle's door with the same amount of care. While I scowled in response to its thundering _whack_ , she grinned wildly – a broad impish smile replacing her normally impassive countenance.

Thalia started to bounce animatedly, up and down in place, as the SUV traversed down the gravelly path towards the red-bricked one-story house – enthusiastically excited to be here.

 _Fucking bat-shit crazy little warrior vampire._

Parking near the white vinyl-slatted garage door, I gripped the steering wheel tight, willing myself to calm before heading towards the painted white door. With Pam and Thalia triangulated behind me, I rapped not once but twice at the wooden entrance, surprise ringing through me as it opened before I could apply a third knock.

Stringed symphonic music wafted through the air from the classically-designed space, originating presumably from deeper inside the house.

"Oh my gosh… Pam, don't you look… _festive_."

Addy complimented my child slowly – confusion rife in her tone while merriment danced in her eyes – before sweeping to the left side of the frame to allows the three of us through the jamb.

"There's flutes of warmed blood in the Great Room, which is just down that hallway," she gestured in the direction as she simultaneously closed the front door, clicking the deadbolt lock into place, "Y'all go ahead and get comfortable back there. I'm stuck on door duty for now, since I'm pretty useless in the kitchen."

Obviously amused, Addy laughed softly – a melodic tinkling jingle – producing one of the most captivating sounds I had ever heard in hundreds of years.

Who was this cheerful young woman, and what had she done with my maker's sullen brooding child?

This Addy seemed genuinely… _happy_ , unencumbered – dazzlingly bright.

"Pam. Thalia." I directed confidently, leaving no room for argument – wondering briefly why she was so different, "Let Godric know we have arrived. I will be along shortly."

Having Addy all to myself – at least for a couple of stolen moments – I could not help but apprise her from head-to-toe.

Finally, all of Pam's unbidden prattling about fashion was being put to good use.

Addy's hair was pulled off her neck, twisted tightly into an updo with curled tendrils spilling over a pavé-crystal covered comb. She wore a purple chiffon long-sleeved, midi-dress with a satin belted element about her waist. The see-through fabric of the skirt fell to her knees, but the underdress was much shorter, teasingly exposing her creamy white legs. Those went on for days, terminating with a pair of brown ankle-high gladiator heels.

To reduce her appearance to a single elaborative word, she looked stunning.

But I managed to keep my wits about me all the same.

"It's sooo _not_ me, I know," Addy joked self-deprecatingly, obviously taking my silence to mean something other than discreet appreciation, as she smoothed her hands over the sheened overlay in an agitated fashion, "Plus, it'd prolly look better on some more beautiful, like Pam. But Ezra insisted…"

"You look lovely as ever, Addy."

I truthed sincerely through fanged teeth – wits be fucking damned – interrupting her before she could denigrate or belittle herself any further.

"She does, doesn't she?"

Her cambion demon roommate enthused as he rounded the corner with a shit-eating grin and placed his arm around Addy's shoulder, attaching himself to both my compliment and my maker's child.

Smiling sweetly in response, her bottom lip tucked nervously between her bite, Addy playfully swatted at the buttons on his cloth-covered chest before slipping out of his hold to stand by his side.

Rolling his eyes as I narrowed my own, the demon reached for her hand instead, and wove his fingers through hers – thumbing lightly at her knuckles.

Much to my chagrin, she did not snatch it away.

"So this is… he's my…"

Addy finally uttered a full minute later, breaking the uneasy silence that hung between us like a filthy smoke cloud, oddly struggling to make the simplest of introductions.

 _What was going on with her?_

"My… Eric. This is my… Eric."

Her struggle to identify me as her vampire brother pleased me greatly.

 _Apparently I was not the_ only _one disturbed by the label._

"And Eric, t-this is…" she faltered again, concerning me more than I cared to admit, "He's…"

"So you're the infamous _Eric_ ," the demon grinned conspiratorially as he thrust his free hand between us – an action I scoffed at even as Addy guided it back down, "I'm Jax. Kid's… _roommate_."

She giggled in response – her eyes bright and mirthful – as though _Jackass_ had just told a funny joke.

Then _Jackass_ leaned over to press his dark lips against the crown of her head, a disgustingly affectionate display that caused my useless stomach to churn wildly – without explanation or measure.

Inwardly, I called complete and utter bullshit – _just her fucking roommate my fucking ass._

I had seen more than enough.

As I stormed out of the entryway towards a side-door I was sure led outside, I refused to give the two _lovebirds_ another passing thought.

I needed to extricate myself from this potentially volatile situation immediately.

Before my newly ignited rage got out of hand.

* * *

"Hey! What're you doing all the way out here?"

Addy called out worriedly as she strolled towards me bare-footed – her shoes likely toed-off inside – across the dry, crackling lawn of the open-aired backyard.

Of course, _she_ had followed me outside.

Because apparently the universe fucking hated me tonight.

"Do you not have a door you should be watching?"

I barked back, halting her in her tracks as I tucked my phone back into my jeans pocket, having already sent a booty-calling message, as Pam had called it, to _Trish_.

I _truly_ was a masochistic being.

I was sure of it now.

"Nope… everybody's here. Well, except Alcide, but he's prolly at least thirty minutes out."

Addy explained pragmatically, thumbing at the hem of her purple sleeve as she resumed walking, unconsciously swinging her thin hips in an inadvertently seductive fashion.

Awakened by the display, my cock twitched against the zippered seam of my dress pants, reminding me once again of the abhorrent feelings I had been trying to hold at bay.

 _That fucking_ _irriterande lilla fairie!_

"Go back to your fucking _birthday_ party, _Princess_ …"

I snarled venomously at her, punctuating my biting statement with an endearment that Pam had insisted when delivered sharply was synonymous with brat – scowling in response to her alarmed, wide-eyed expression.

Itching for a fuck – but willing to settle for a fight – I darkly hoped that she would pull out her claws and rip me to shreds.

Naturally, she did not disappoint.

"What the flying fuck, Eric?! What the fuck crawled up your ass?!"

 _Flying fucks?_

Gutter-minded, my still half-mast member jerked against its cloth confines again.

"What. Crawled. Up. My. Ass." I repeated slowly, spitting out each word of the offensive phrase like it was poison on my tongue, "Well, I will tell you WHAT CRAWLED UP MY ASS, _Sookie_ ," if looks could kill, I would have been reduced to cinders, " _YOU_!"

In that moment, all rational sense left me – I was a livewire, enraged.

Thanks the Gods, we were several acres from the house, so there was no one else to bear witness to this embarrassingly emotional display.

Because Addy had not _crawled up my ass_ – as we had both crudely put it – she had gotten under my skin. She had sliced me opened with surgical precision and infected me with these revolting _feelings_. Then, like a parasitic virus, she had infiltrated my mind, dominated my thoughts – caused me to daydream. _Repeatedly_. Perhaps this is what fairies _really_ did; they fucked with people's minds.

Begging me to turn her, forcing me to worry about her, fucking feigning final death only to pop back into my life again…

What if it had just been a game to her, merely a joke at my expense?

"Wait… W-what?" Addy sputtered out before bursting into a fit of laughter, practically doubling over from chuckling so hard – _case in point_ – before launching into her own tirade, " _THAT'S_ what you fucking think of me?! How the freakin' hell did you come to that asinine conclusion, _Drew_?!" her ample bosom heaved as she sucked in angry breaths, trying to calm herself as she unknowingly riled me up further – _fucking minxy temptress_ , "You know what? I'm not doing this shit, not on my birthday."

Then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone as if she had vanished into thin air.

How the fuck did she do that!?

* * *

"Please come back to the house," Addy entreated me pleadingly, after she instantly reappeared before me, a few minutes later– _really, how the fuck was she doing that_?! "I promise I'll stop crawling up your _ass_ – cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye…at least for the night."

She proposed contritely, punctuating her statement by raising her hands up, palms open as if in surrender – her supplicant display temporarily throwing me off balance.

Perhaps I _had_ been rash, unreasonably quick to judge her motives.

But inexplicably I found myself wanting to deny the _irriterande lilla fairie_ all the same.

So without one word of explanation, I launched myself into the sky, even as she yelled for me – _Eric, don't go_! – ignoring her pleas as I let the summer winds whip against my clothing and drag harshly against my exposed skin. The momentary prickles of pain felt good, cleansing. I flew higher and higher, circling the space above the property, denying my traitorous impulse to look down. To check and see if Addy was still there, waiting for me, delaying her party-goings in hopes I would follow her back inside.

Secretly, I wished she was.

But I was unwilling to confirm the _more_ _likely_ inevitability that she was not.

" _ERI-C_!"

She cried urgently, letting out a blood-curdling scream, veritably begging me to return to her side – her blatant fear causing the hair on my arms to inexplicably stand on end.

As my head snapped down – my vision becoming red-filtered and hazy – I watched Addy throw off one of two beings who had been practically on top of her – their glinting, silver-tipped teeth visible even from a hundred foot distance.

Although it had been nearly a thousand years since their kind had graced the earth, I would never forget the race of bloodthirsty soldiers who had wielded that particular trademark weapon.

 _Fairies… fucking psychotic, warrior fairies._

Vaulting to the grassy earth with a thundering boom – my fangs snicking down at an almost paining force – I charged at the male assailant with a barely audible _whoosh_ as he attempted to stalk back towards Addy – a vicious, malignant smile curled about his chapped, broken lips. Imprudently fixated solely on his target, giving no regard to his bearings, I reached him in nanoseconds, catching him completely off-guard. He scratched deep gouges into my skin, ripping my dress clothes to shreds, as my hand gripped his windpipe tight – the resulting _snap_ of the bone-encased, cartilage tube pleasing my raging beast to no end.

"N…eeeaav-e…"

He choked and sputtered against my increasingly crushing grasp, limbs flailing to gain further purchase in my already healing skin even as I thrust him out to arm's length – to search the surprisingly dust-filled terrain for Addy and her own fairy opponent.

"AHHHH!"

I heard a woman shriek, my head snapping left to spy Addy tearing her fangs ferociously into the female fairy's neck, drinking deeply as though her life depended on it – which it might have – offering no semblance of mercy, or even a modicum of restraint.

She really was an exceptional vampire – amazing on all counts.

 _It was a damn shame she was not mine._

Glittering sparkles framed Addy's lithe, alluring form as the female fairy turned to dust, crumbling under the weight of the tears streaming down her scarred face – her blue lips whispering _Lochlan_ as she disintegrated into nothingness. As the cloudy air began to settle, I could not help but note that Addy's birthday frock was in shambles, her creamy pale skin peeking out from under tattered strips. Every exposed inch of her screamed for my cool touch as blood dripped down her smooth legs and pooled at her unshod feet – _fuck, she looked hot as sin_.

Involuntarily – my dick becoming unbearably hard – I curled my claws into fists, trying to stave off the overwhelming urge to rip those meager scraps of clothing off her and lick her head to toe.

The feeling of my own fairy captive exploding into glimmering particles between my fingers snapped me back to reality…

FUCK!

That was _not_ what was supposed to happen.

Smiling broadly, revealing red-tipped fangs, Addy began to slink towards me slowly, her gait reminding me of a hungry predator hunting its prey – the dark hooded gaze from under her lengthy lashes belying her otherwise laissez-faire attitude. I knew better than to think she was anything, if not drunk out of her wits on fairy blood – her mind and sensibilities addled by the sweet, sugary treat she had consumed. Yet, I could not move even one muscle as she closed the short distance between us, the drying scent of blood on her legs – her own – infiltrating my nostrils like an enticing perfume, captivating my beast – demanding my full attention.

At that moment, she could have led me into the depths of hell.

I would have gone willingly if it meant following her.

"Hmmm…" Addy hummed enticingly as she danced her fingers lightly against the seam of my pants, teasingly tugging at the zippered enclosure – slipping her hand inside to palm at my rock-hard, throbbing dick, "Happy fucking birthday to me…"

Gods, nothing in the world had ever felt so fucking right in my entire life.

But it was wrong this way… oh, so very wrong.

Gently removing her soft hand – everything inside me screaming I had lost my ever-loving mind – I prayed to the Gods for both our sakes that once she sobered up she would not remember any of this.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

Unfortunately, I knew that _Godric_ was never going to forget it.


	15. I Bet My Life – Imagine Dragons

_A/N: Thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader._

 _I'm slowly easing back into writing now that my future husband has a job again. So hopefully there won't be anymore unexpected, two-month breaks. Fingers crossed!_

* * *

 _"You can sacrifice and not love._

 _But you cannot love and not sacrifice."_

 _― Kris Vallotton_

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Adele Stackhouse stood in front of her off-white porcelain console sink – her eyes glassy and unfocused – as she absentmindedly wiped hard-water spots off of her green, hobnail tumbler. The set of six had been her mother's before becoming hers, a part of her family for generations. It was one of the few heirlooms she still allowed herself to use from time to time, but _especially_ when she was feeling particularly low.

It was destined to be an unquestionably hard day.

Fintan had been missing for months – _MONTHS!_ – with no whispered reassurances or secretly noted placations following his absence. He had previously gone incognito before, disappearing without even the courtesy of a goodbye, for disconcerting amounts of time during in their lengthy relationship – without any obvious correspondence between them. But in nearly two decades, he had never missed this anniversary. The day was still young but this time it felt… different.

This time, everything felt _wrong_.

Like something inexplicably bad was about to happen.

Adele swiped the lightly embroidered towel at already removed spots, her mind on auto-drive, as she ruminated on her foreboding feelings.

She had felt differently following his absence – strange in ways she could not explain. Adele worried she was blaming magic for what could have easily been a product of stress, or simply indigestion. But still she could not help but wonder if it – the inalienable feeling constantly contracting and retracting within her bubbling gut – _was_ in fact an artefact of the magical tie between them.

A byproduct, and an unwitting result, of creating the cluviel dor.

Gosh, she hoped it was.

Adele did not understand – not really – the magicks that Fintan had employed, had called upon to create the magical object that essentially controlled their fates. But from what she understood, it tied their souls together, spun their essences tight like braided threads – rendering them unable to unspool themselves for all of eternity. Not that she would ever even consider a life without Fintan. They had always been lost to each other, veritably drowning – gasping for air – as they doggy-paddled in the sea of love between them.

But now he was gone.

And Adele was left wading in the deep, murky waters of everlasting love, and more recently doubt, all on her own.

Outwardly, even as she smoothed her cotton towel over the pebbled sides of the emerald-colored glass for what may have been the hundredth time, she was calm and collected, the epitome of ageless grace and poise. Her mother had certainly raised her well, taught her how to be a lighthouse shining through a dark and rain-pelting storm. But inwardly, she was a jumbled mess of nerves – her anxieties at an almost intolerable level – her mind conjuring disturbing thoughts, birthing new, more troublesome worries with each passing second.

In short, Adele Stackhouse was not far from her wit's end.

She was practically waving it hello.

Often, she wondered if her life could have been different. Would her life's path have been set on another trajectory if she _hadn't_ dissolved her union with Earl and trudged on as the single mother of an illegitimate son, in hopes that Fintan would return to her side? Would _anything_ be the same if she had chosen to ignore the supernatural world instead of embracing it? Would Sookie Adele be sleeping in the room next to her brother Jason?

If not, would she have at least _survived_ the inexplicable malady that had claimed her?

Or had her death always been tightly woven into God's plan?

Fintan had openly shared with her that his father was fighting a cause embroiled around the existence of half-fairy, half-human beings, had warned her that their own descendants could become the object of the opposition's attentions. Adele had feared the birth of her son, finding reprieve when Fintan assured her that he carried fairy genes only latently. It had been the same with her daughter, Linda. When her own children married, began to have children of their own, Adele became anxious again.

Jason's birth – her own son's firstborn – had dissolved all concerns.

Human, he was completely and utterly human.

It seemed, at least to Adele, that the fairy bloodline did not persist as strongly as Fintan had previously surmised – that perhaps it dissipated with each generation when mixed with human blood. Lost its inherent potency. He insisted it did not, but what did he know of human genetics? Of breeding with humans? Fintan was ageless, his race without regard to science and its ways; he could certainly have made assumptions based on biases, on his presumptive fears.

He had to be wrong – he just _had_ to be…

"Mama, don't worry he'll be here. Everything'll be okay."

Corbett interrupted his mother calmly, ripping Adele from the unmerciful clutches of her heavy thoughts, as he placed his hands over hers under the now scalding water and pulled them out.

Gently, he removed the emerald glass from her hands to place it upside down on the kitchen towel next to the deep sink. She looked up at her first-born, her only son, through tear-filled blue eyes, giving him a gratuitous, if not only slightly pained smile. After shaking away the excess moisture, she dried her angry-red hands against her patterned apron, taking care to avoid the intricately embroidered hummingbird Michelle – her precious daughter-in-law – had carefully sewn into the fabric.

"I know, baby," Adele agreed with a sigh after a few moments, cupping her hand against her son's jaw before patting him reassuringly on the cheek, "I know."

Of course, she _didn't_ know if everything would be okay, not for sure.

But that had never stopped her from holding out hope before, and she was not about to let it start now.

* * *

" _Jason. Corbett. Stackhouse!_ "

Michelle Stackhouse scolded reproachfully, as she walked with him out to his truck, using her best _mom_ voice and her son's full name to convey her deep disappointment that he'd forgotten something so important.

"You _know_ why tonight of all nights you need to come on home after work instead of hangin' out with your frat brothers. You know this is the annive… our _family_ night."

She said the last bit slowly, as if the cadence of her words would serve to spark his memory, praying that he would not make this conversation any harder than it needed to be.

That she wouldn't have to spell it out more plainly for him.

Because, truth be told, she was barely keeping herself together.

It had been eighteen years to the day since Michelle Stackhouse had lost her second child – _Sookie Adele_. Her beautiful baby girl who'd been born with a small mop of golden blonde hair and fathomless oceanic blues. Despite having only seen them briefly, her daughter's curious and wide eyes haunted her occasional dreams, and every single one of her nightmares. Although Michelle knew those memories had to be fabricated by her post-partum mind – because her child had been stillborn – she often wondered how a recollection so vivid and intense could be anything but real.

Why were the things she _knew_ so different from those she recalled?

It all made her feel crazier than a loon.

Because Michelle _remembered_ cradling her pink-skinned newborn daughter in her arms, cooing delightfully as sleepy eyelids exposed a startling sapphire gaze. She _remembered_ hugging her close, playing with ten fingers and toes, for just a paltry number of minutes before the nurse had whisked her baby away for screenings and tests. She _remembered_ craning her neck uneasily to watch her softly fussing child slip from view mere seconds before she had succumbed to exhaustion with a wide smile painted on her glistening face.

Had she known then that those precious moments would be fleeting, she would have tried to hold onto them – _onto her_ – for much longer.

In fact, she likely would have never let her go.

"Oh shit, Ma! I'm sorry!"

Jason all but hollered out, smacking his head with his open palm before moving to his mother's side to embrace her comfortingly – a gesture she returned in kind.

"No harm done, Jase-cakes. You just lost track of your days – happens to the best of us," Michelle soothed sweetly, stepping out of the hug to thumb away the bit of moisture that had collected in the corners of her eyes, "So I can count on you to be home by dinner? Gran's making her famous chicken and sausage gumbo – your favorite."

"Yes, ma'am! Wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Jason grinned brightly, undeniably excited about his grandmother's cooking – swallowing his resurfacing sympathetic grief – and nodded furiously before he jumped into his dusty blue Ford pick-up to reverse it down the unpaved drive.

Michelle waved him goodbye and then slowly sauntered back towards the house, smiling as she saw her mother-in-law waiting on the weathered porch with two tumblers full of what was assuredly sweet tea.

"Where's Jason off to? I thought he was on break from his college studies until August?"

Adele asked politely after Michelle transcended the few wooden stairs, wordlessly offering her the untouched turquoise glass – having already taken several satisfying sips from her own.

"Thank you, Mama Stackhouse."

Michelle enthused gratefully, politely humming her appreciation as she took a small, but thirst-quenching drink – the midday heat impossible to ignore.

"Jason's gonna cover the hardware store for a few hours so Hoyt can run Mrs. Fortenberry into town for her doctor's appointment. But then he's comin' on back home. Even if today wasn't…" she couldn't bring herself to finish that sentence, and skipped ahead instead,"…you know he'd never pass up the chance to inhale a cup of the tastiest gumbo in all of Louisiana."

Both women laughed amusedly, each picturing one of the many times Jason had proven that the need to satiate his voracious appetite always outweighed over his ability to be mannerly at the table.

"When do you expect Fintan?"

Michelle asked several minutes later, breaking the easy silence that had fallen between them – both having been listening almost meditatively to the wind's quiet serenade.

The airstream continued to whip across the dried, crunchy grass – sprinkler systems a luxury the Stackhouse family could not afford – as Adele contemplated her response. She was well aware that her daughter-in-law would never press her for an answer – she wouldn't even _dream_ of being so impolite – still she felt obligated to give one. But it wasn't just that Adele didn't know when Fintan would arrive – or if he would show up at all – she feared that if she even _mentioned_ him that her other fears might come tumbling out too.

"He'll probably be along after sunset."

She lied guiltily, asking God for forgiveness even as the false statement slipped past her sunscreen-balmed lips – the Louisiana sun beating down mercilessly, as it always did midday during the months of summer.

Maybe he _would_ show up tonight, or maybe he wouldn't.

Either way, Adele had a nagging feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

For the life of him, Breandan couldn't do it.

Every time he parted his lips to give the order, his resolve built-up and sufficiently firm, words failed him. Quite literally. His throat would constrict painfully, practically close, as if he was being garroted by an invisible force. He had learned that relief was only granted once he relented, admitted – if only to himself – that he just couldn't do it. No matter how much he wanted to.

 _Was this what guilt felt like?_

Having never subscribed to the emotion before, Breandan simply did not know.

"Fuck…"

He sighed resignedly – a scowl etched into his darkened countenance – as he flicked his wrist dismissively, sending his faithful guards away after yet another unsuccessful attempt. He acknowledged their deferential bows with a slight nod. Finally left to his own devices, he sank down onto his throne to mull over his most recent disappointment while thumbing at his taut neck to find the muscles retracting quickly, almost as if in silent victory.

His weakness, his affection for his cousin called brother – for Fintan – had fucking softened him once again.

It made him want to gut someone like a fish that much more.

His cells did house _other_ prisoners – ones Breandan imagined he could order the torture of without impunity, or the threat of physical repercussions. The thought of which brought a knowing and devious smile to his dry, chapped lips. Yes, he still wanted Fintan's blood, yearned to feel it coagulate and brown in his hands – to spill it unequivocally and without restraint – but he could, _would_ settle for retribution against one of the few dissenters who had risen up since he'd seized the crown.

"LOCHLAN! NEAVE!"

Breandan sat up and roared dominantly, demanding the presence of his most cold-blooded and ruthless enforcers, with a maliciously murderous glint in his eyes.

The beckoned fairies popped into the room almost instantly, vibrating with practically abandoned glee – their silvered teeth peeking out expectantly from behind Cheshire cat grins.

So eager, those two.

"That's right, my friends," Breandan mused aloud, clapping his hands together as he lifted to his feet before descending the few stairs, "Tonight… we are going to _play_!"

Perhaps, he'd make another show of it, a public spectacle.

 _Yes_ , Breandan thought to himself, _that is_ exactly _what I'm going to fucking do_.

* * *

Meridian moved blithely about her new apartment-sized space, flicking her wrist lightly to magically place her tchotchkes into different spots until she found each its perfect space.

Stepping backwards, until she was almost flush with the far wall, she took a moment to admire her work.

It'd be just a small undertaking overall, uprooting her dull and placid existence to relocate it permanently into Breandan's palatial home, but despite her meager exertions she praised herself effusively anyways.

She'd given up so much to make things work with him.

She _deserved_ this win, no matter how small it may have been in the scope of things.

In fact, Meridian had surrendered _everything_ she'd once held dear – even her sense of self – to support Breandan and his Purist cause. No other self-respecting faery woman would have ever readily debased herself for him like she had, would have willingly sacrificed her own moral integrities to satiate Breandan's extremely dark predilections exuberantly and without question. It had been a trying task, striving to hold his attentions, but it had all been worth it in the end.

She was _finally_ realizing the fruits of her earlier and undignified efforts.

 _Now_ she intended to devote all of her energies on converting her arduously earned title of _consort_ to _queen_.

 _"LOCHLAN! NEAVE!"_

Meridian heard her hopefully future fiancé bellow from the Faery Court down the hall, wondering idly why her despotic companion relied so heavily on the subservient machinations of those two faery twins in particular. Lochlan and Neave were known for being crazed and bloodthirsty – they _were_ demented and cruel – and yet Breandan trusted them more ardently than all others. Including herself.

It was a sticking point in their otherwise candid relationship.

And it irked her – obnoxiously and to no end.

She was not too proud to admit, at least to herself, that she hated any being who stood between herself and complete complacency – her financial security. After growing up on the cusp of poverty, fostered with her brother by one of the first couples struck by the infertility brought on by the halfling scum, Meridian feared instability above all else, letting even the prospect of it consume all her anxious thoughts. In the years since her rocky and unstable childhood, she had been searching for it, struggling to find it.

And now – _finally_ – it was just beyond her fingertips.

Almost within her reach.

Meridian had wrongly assumed, as a starry-eyed and rather jejune young faery, that her brother Darick's position as guard to Prince Niall would have vaulted them from the dregs of lower society to the pinnacle of its upper echelon. She'd believed she could ride her sibling's coattails to a better life. But the sobering reality that Darick was little more than a peon – entirely expendable to the faery people's fickle sovereign – had been quite difficult for Meridian to accept. Instead, she'd continued to cling tightly to her naïve ideals, despite the fact they'd slowly begun crumbling into dirt clod heaps around her, practically reduced to ashy cinders.

Meridian was nothing if not an eternal optimist.

She refused to give up her unwavering belief that she had been destined for greatness – born for it.

Her brother on the other hand…

"Meridian!"

Darick enthused brightly – affectionately – even as he stumbled and stubbed his toe, nearly dropping the cardboard box stuffed past its brim with belongings his sister did not need, but cherished owning.

He had been glad to gift them to her, to see her broad and joyous smile as she greedily ripped the wrapping off her solicited treasures one by one – to spoil her rotten, as the human idiom went.

Although he worried – silently, as always – that rotten was _exactly_ what she had become.

He hated to think of her that way, but Meridian had noticeably changed since she had committed herself to the Realm's newest leader, Breandan. As far as he was concerned, his dearest sister had fallen prey to the insurgent usurping faery's charismatic wiles. Unfortunately, she had succumbed, like the majority of the faery populace, to his hypnotizing rhetoric and recently undivided attentions.

She was even _moving in_ with him.

Into the East Wing on the other side of the palace from his bedrooms, but still…

As much as he disagreed with her choice to trust Breandan – so blindly and without regard for her own safety – Darick kept his, most likely traitorous, concerns to himself. She _was_ his sister, and above all he wanted to campaign for her happiness, not seek to rob her of it. Plus, despite being an outwardly vicious and unabashedly bloodthirsty tyrant, Breandan appeared – even to Darick's own critical and judging eyes – to genuinely care for Meridian, to make her exceptionally happy.

Although conversely over the last couple of weeks, she had become increasingly less contented with him.

"Have you made your decision yet, brother?"

Meridian prodded him inquisitively – the barest hint of irritation recognizable in her otherwise melodic tone – as she glided through the sea of unopened and partially opened boxes to locate an empty spot.

Darick hesitated to answer, trembling instead as he gently set the heavy carton down in the indicated space – his mind drifting back to the aforementioned exchange.

Of course, she would bring _that_ up now, especially since her words had only _just_ slipped his thoughts.

Truly, until moments ago, her unsettling proviso had been plaguing him for days.

* * *

 _"You_ love _her!"_

 _Meridian accused her brother spitefully, using one hand like a visor to obviate the glare of the midday sun as she waggled her manicured finger in his face – a judging scowl painted across her countenance._

 _"_ Who _?"_

 _Darick rejoined hesitantly – horrified to discover he'd been followed through one of the former Prince's secret portals to the Human Realm – knowing all too well that his sister would not only notice he was playing dumb, but call him on it._

 _Which of course she did._

 _"You. Know._ Who _."_

 _She spat out, grabbing his bicep – her nails sinking into his skin – in an attempt to gain his attention before she gestured wildly towards the now distant, red-bricked house tucked away in the rural outskirts of Dallas proper._

 _This place was the epitome of remote._

 _"She means nothing to me – NOTHING!"_

 _He hissed back automatically, surprising not only himself but his sister with the ferocity of his denial – his face softened as he registered the momentary shock she donned in response to his harsh tone._

 _Even as the words had spilled from his mouth, he'd spied the falseness in them._

 _His sister had heard it too._

 _"LIAR! I saw how you looked at that human!"_

 _Meridian whisper-yelled, releasing her brother's arm to stomp away from him, thinking of the adoration she'd seen in his eyes as he peered through the kitchen window at the blonde-haired blue-eyed girl._

 _Darick thought better of correcting his sister._

 _The Princess_ definitely _wasn't human anymore – not that she ever really had been._

 _"You_ love _her_! _WORSE YET,_ y _ou love her_ more _than_ me _!"_

 _Was love what he felt for Prince Brigant's great granddaughter?_

 _It_ was _possible; he'd never really considered his feelings for the Princess. Yes, he had been following_ her _her entire childhood, had kept tabs on her even after her adopted family had moved halfway across the state of Texas. In fact, he'd_ always _felt strangely compelled to watch over her, to make sure that she was safely hidden from Breandan – an inclination that hadn't stopped even_ after _he'd ensured she became one of the walking dead._

 _Did that mean he_ loved _her?_

 _Truly, he had no frame of reference – having never been a slave to love once during his four hundred years of existence. But if he appeared to love her, according to his older sister, whom he trusted with his life… then_ yes _, it must have meant that he did. The weight of his admittance, the force of his emotional breakthrough, instantly bore down on him, reducing his already markedly low self-worth to the equivalent of tiny wooden shards._

 _Because it didn't matter one way or another that he loved the Princess._

 _He certainly didn't_ deserve _her._

 _"I could never love_ anyone _more than I love_ you _, my dear sister."_

 _Darick insisted forcefully, stepping forwards to pull his petite sibling into a warm embrace, chuckling lightly as her short, curly red hair tickled his nostrils._

 _He also loved his sister – he always had – unconditionally._

 _But, he was beginning to think it wasn't enough for her, and he suspected it never would be._

 _"So… you_ do _love her then._ That's _why you sneak away to the Human Realm…" Meridian murmured quietly, clinging to Darick tighter when he began to stiffen in her arms – guessing her purpose, "It is okay, my dear brother, I won't tell Breandan about your human…"_

 _Darick waited with bated breath, knowing the other shoe would drop momentarily, so to speak – his sister never gave him anything without strings._

 _She did not believe one bit in charity._

 _Or in mercy for that matter._

 _"…_ IF _you tell me what I want to know about Brigant. I'll give you some time to think about it, but you_ are going to _have to decide, brother – what's more important to you? Whatever Niall was hiding or the girl?"_

 _Darick stifled the urge to groan, as he often did when he found himself faced with an impossible task, mumbling his intent to mull over her entreaty instead._

 _He literally_ couldn't _pick one over the other._

 _Because those two particular things were one in the same._

* * *

" _Well_? What is your decision, brother? My patience is wearing thin."

Meridian demanded again, ripping Darick forcefully out of his memories and back into the present to spy his sister standing in front of him – her brows arched and hands pressed firmly against her hips.

She was glowering openly, visibly displeased.

Darick offered her a meek and timid smile as he righted his hunched bearing to a horizontal stance, hoping his unabashed display of trepidation would answer her question without words.

Of course, he hadn't made a decision between the two.

Because he _couldn't_ – not that his sister was privy to that more than minor detail.

Meridian crossed her arms and tapped her foot against the White Oak flooring expectantly. Did her brother really think he could continue to delay the inevitable? That she wouldn't follow-through on her threat? His silence spoke volumes, told her that's exactly what he was betting on. Perhaps, she was to blame for his smugness; she'd already given him too long to consider it, she supposed. Of course, he'd gotten complacent, assuming that she was much too soft to _actually_ cause his human harm.

 _Well_ , Meridian huffed internally, _if that's what he thinks, then I'll show him_.

But what could she really do to display her resolve?

In truth, she didn't give two shits about the little blonde her brother was keeping back in the Human Realm – why should she? The woman was nothing more than leverage in her quest to get Brigant's secrets. Despite her threats otherwise, she wasn't interested at all in killing the human. Of course not! She had _some_ semblance of propriety. Gods, even Lochlan and Neave, bloodthirsty little savages they were, wouldn't _dare_ to harm someone wholly disconnected from their world. But… Darick didn't know the twins had _some_ scruples; luckily for her, those three weren't necessarily _friends_. She could – no, she _would_ , she decided – exploit that minor factoid to her advantage, and fully.

After all, she figured her brother just needed a push in the right direction – a scare.

Maybe _then_ he'd finally break.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Lochlan and Neave were practically bouncing out of their respective skins with excitement – each high off of surging adrenaline – as they teleported through Breandan's open portal to the Human Realm.

It had been too long since the pair had gotten to slaughter a halfling.

Too damn fucking long.

Popping near a small remote red-bricked house – the exact spot identified by the scrying stone – they each inhaled deeply, sure one or the other would catch a whiff of the tell-tale the faery scent – a cloying and pellucid smell.

" _Lochlan_ …"

Neave hissed lowly, exchanging a look of frustration with her twin as she realized there was no fucking scent to be found, not even a whiff of sugary sweetness wafting through the wind.

Which meant there was no fucking halfing.

" _Neave_ …"

Lochlan rejoined similarly, growling in agreement as he stalked further away from the house – silently bidding her to follow – noting the faint odor of death that actually did perfume the air.

A vampire had recently been here.

Who the fuck would've risked their lives like this?!

" _Meridian_."

Both snarled in unison, gearing themselves up to face an angry Breandan – not that his ire would ever be directed at them.

The only fucking thing Breandan hated more than halflings was traitors.

That little red-headed social-climber didn't stand a chance.

Fuck! Now they couldn't wait to get back! Each started to fidget impatiently, shifting from foot to foot before jumping up and down instead.

"She popped! She popped!"

Neave whisper-yelled excitedly, ceasing her celebration to point emphatically at a purple-clad woman off the distance – her usually vacant eyes alight with glee.

 _Only_ faeries could pop! They had found a halfling!

She couldn't fucking believe it!

"She popped! She popped!"

Lochlan chanted back, before grabbing his sister and sinking them both into a crouch, cloaking both their scents and forms when he spied the tall pale man with her – the _vampire_.

 _"Please come back to the house…"_

They heard the fucking halfling plead, while trembling in anticipation for the slaughter about to come – her blood-whoring nature only making the prospect of her death that much more delightful.

" _I promise I'll stop crawling up your ass – cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye…at least for the night."_

But apparently, the bloodsucker didn't want what she was offering.

Because in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

"NOW!"

Lochlan and Neave mouthed silently to one another, their silvered-teeth glinting in the moonlight, before popping across the field.

Then…

They pounced.

* * *

As two unidentified beings descended upon Godric's child, an undetected dark-haired lurker tucked an absconded birthday invite back into his pocket and quickly disappeared into the night.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"IT WAS… A _FUCKING_ TRAP!"

Breandan shouted at an ungodly decibel as he launched out of his throne to his feet, exceedingly livid to discover that _not only_ had his two closest compatriots been savagely drained by vampires, but that their deaths had been in vain.

Their trip to the Human Realm had been all for naught.

He should've fucking suspected as much earlier – when the scry had suddenly sprung to life after months of inactivity – but he'd be too amped up, already primed and readied for a kill. Fuck! Of course, it'd been a trap, and he'd sent Lochlan and Neave right into it! Why the fuck had he let his bloodlust dull his usually keen senses?! Magic had been rife in the air of the Faery Court – he'd smelled it, even tasted it as it curled about his tongue – when the stone stood up onto its point and turned slowly, etching a hole into one particular spot. He _should've_ questioned the scry's sudden steadiness, considering it had only flickered _twice_ in the past ten years, but he hadn't.

No, like a fucking dumbass, he'd failed to recognize the subterfuge playing out in front of his eyes, and that failure had cost him _almost_ everything.

Thank the Gods, he still had Meridian by his side.

Scared out of her wits, afraid he'd realize _she'd_ inadvertently laid the trap, Meridian watched fearfully as Breandan's gaze flitted from faery to faery – filling with fire as it landed on her brother. He thought that her idiot brother Darick would have done something so devious and cunning? _Really_? Okay, she could work with that. In fact, she could _definitely_ use it to her advantage, put her original plan back into motion, and hopefully force her brother's hand.

She'd figure out who exactly to pin this whole thing on later.

"B-brother… _you_ didn't do this, d-did you? You would _NEVER_ do something like this to _us_ , would you?"

Meridian sputtered out, animatedly clasping Breandan's hand for support as the other flew dramatically to rest on the spot over her heart, feigning not only innocence but incredulity as she hurtled the veiled accusation in Darick's direction.

Her reproachful words – in addition to the whole scene – startled Darick, though he did not show it, and vaulted his otherwise placid thoughts into a frenzy like none other he'd ever experienced – forcing him to face truths he'd long since ignored.

His sister didn't love him the way he loved her.

He wondered if she ever had.

" _PROVE_ THAT YOU WOULD NEVER BETRAY US LIKE _THIS_!"

Meridian screamed demandingly, trying to cover _her_ own impetuous folly by delivering yet another, albeit more severe ultimatum.

Of course, he knew there was only _one_ thing that she _desperately_ wanted from him.

Finally, Darick realized – the truth hitting him like mallet across his chestbone, veritably stealing the air from his burning lungs – that as long as _he_ was still alive this particular scene was likely to play on repeat, over and over until the Princess got swallowed up in the mess of it. His sister, enterprising as she was, was _never_ going to end her quest to expose the Prince's most cherished secrets, to deepen the alliance between herself and Breandan. He would _always_ be her stringed puppet – subject to her machinations – while his comings and goings would be watched closely, catalogued by her devious mind for future exploitations.

The Princess would live in constant danger.

"Who else would it have been?! OF COURSE, it was _me_!"

He bellowed loudly, throwing himself on the figurative grenade that had been tossed by his sister – knowing that his declaration would also serve to cover her misgivings.

But he hadn't done it for Meridian.

No, he was exchanging his meager and pitiful existence for the Princess'.

Breandan grinned wildly and dropped Meridian's hand to clap his own together, no doubt excited to kill the Prince Brigant's last, and possibly _most,_ loyal servant – his usefulness having _finally_ run its course.

Meridian kept silent as she watched her brother sacrifice himself for her blunder, digging her fingernails into her palms, unsure of how to proceed – really what could she do?

She definitely didn't want to die, and if her brother wanted to protect her like this…

Well, who was she to stop him?

Darick silently swallowed the nervous gulp that threatened to erupt from his throat, instead steeling himself for what would expectedly be a heinous demise – stock-still and impassive like the good guard he'd always been. He watched with bated breath as Breandan stalked slowly towards him, the faery's normally hollowed and vacant eyes alight and full of excitement. His executioner looked positively evil, and was visibly giddy at the prospect of painting his hands red with warm, sticky blood.

Darick's blood, to be precise.

"Do not worry, _traitor_ ," Breandan hissed insidiously, silently dismissing the room's other occupants with a wave of his hand, before he grabbed Darick's plate armor at its open shoulders and wrenched him forwards, "I will spare your sister the embarrassment of a public display."

Darick stifled the urge to snort, not wanting to anger the usurping despot any further.

His duplicitous sibling's comfort was the furthest thing from his mind.

Instead he thought of the Princess, allowing her image to consume his mind, to calm his quickly fraying nerves. He pictured her standing before him, cupping his jaw tenderly – her soft forefinger lazily tracing its round curvature. Her sapphire blue eyes were bright, glistening with unshed tears – appreciative of his sacrifice, but sad too. When he tried to open his mouth, to offer heartfelt apologies for all the trespasses he had committed against her, she shushed him, shaking her head slowly before offering him a small, but understanding smile.

"It will only hurt for a minute."

She whispered quietly, her hot breath brushing against the hollow of his ear – her normally pleasing and honeyed voice strangely deep and very nearly baritone.

Darick tensed only slightly as he felt Breandan's serrated blade sink past the seam of his armor and into his side. Ripping the knife harshly from the wound, Breandan plunged the forged metal into his flank once more and up before releasing him. The pain was excruciating, and brought fat stinging tears to his eyes, but the Princess had been right – it only hurt for a minute. Slumping to the floor, his veins rapidly filled with ice – his body convulsing in a futile attempt to offset the sweeping and sudden cold.

This was it; the end was here.

With his dying breaths Darick thought that – for once in his long and subservient existence – he'd finally managed to do something right.

Knowledge of the prophecy had lived, and would now die with him.

As long as the Princess kept herself off Breandan's radar, she'd be free of his clutches forever.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Michelle Stackhouse couldn't help but submit to her yearly ritual, after being roused from a fitful sleep – the nightmares that had plagued her for eighteen years resurging with almost a vengeance given the date.

Noiselessly, she inched the comforter down, stopping momentarily – sucking in a short breath that she held with her hand clasped over her mouth – as her husband snorted and murmured before falling back into a deep sleep. This day had been hard on Corbett as well, but he'd dealt with his demons much differently – imbibing more than his fair share of alcohol at dinner. Michelle didn't mind – he wasn't a habitual drinker – but she wished she could _also_ take the easy way out, and drown her sorrowful feelings with a liquor-laced beverage.

But the grain never made her feel anything but hollow.

So despite her overwhelming urge to embrace that darkness, she'd never partook.

Thinking wistful thoughts about her husband's tranquil slumber, Michelle exhaled slowly through her nose, closing her eyes as her previously inflamed anxieties eased. She deftly pushed the rest of the covers off her body, pausing once again as Corbett shifted restlessly and turned onto his back. She wondered if perhaps, even in his drunken haze, his demons continued to wrest with him. Gosh, she really hoped not; she didn't want _any_ of the Stackhouses to agonize over Sookie's death the way she still did – least of all her husband.

It was why she had never shared with him the unsettling contents of her dreams.

Or told him that she _remembered_ seeing their newborn daughter alive.

After delivering a gentle kiss to his brow, Michelle carefully slung one leg over the edge of the bed, and then the other, her socked toes sinking into the carpeted floor as she awkwardly maneuvered herself to a standing position. Her shaky nerves were already on high alert as she slowly crept out of the room – every unexpected sound causing goose pimples to momentarily erupt down the expanse of her skin. Since the door was not sunk fully into the jamb, she swiftly pulled it back – knowing it would creak otherwise – before slipping to the other side and returning it to its former spot.

Michelle hated that this evasive behavior had almost become second nature to her.

That she'd learned to silently disappear from her husband's side with ease.

Through the cloak of darkness, she tip-toed down the wooden stairs, holding onto the rail for dear life as tears began to pool in her sea blue eyes, blurring her already obscured vision – the only luminosity coming from glow of the porchlight. Mama Stackhouse had likely left it on, probably hoping that Fintan might wander home long after the family had gone to bed. But he hadn't shown up at all; unfortunately, he'd missed everything. Earlier that night, Michelle had shrugged off his nonattendance – Linda, Corbett's sister, and her family had missed their yearly gathering too – but now she found his absence jarring.

She felt a strange sense of dread, like something awful had happened.

Michelle couldn't pinpoint why, but she'd been unable shake the uneasy feeling all the same.

As she reached the bottom stair, she sank down to her knees, kneeling at the stoop to grasp the edge of the stair where the slat was closest to the wall. With a short creaking pop, it relented to her deft ministrations, revealing an ornately carved cherry-wood box – the one that had been gifted to her by Fintan on the day when she'd wed Corbett, her hope chest for Sookie Adele. Tracing the artful design with the tip of her pointer finger, Michelle took a moment to admire and appreciate the expert craftsmanship that had surely gone into the one of a kind piece.

Without a doubt, it was one of the most precious things she owned.

Which was the exact reason why she used it to house all her unrealized hopes and dreams.

With the care she would have put into holding her newborn daughter had she survived, Michelle nimbly lifted the container from its previously secreted position, cradling it securely in her arms before she pushed the vaulted slat back down – just in case. She tensed and froze momentarily, hearing an errant snort come from Adele's downstairs bedroom. While her mother-in-law was well aware of her sleep troubles, Michelle had never told _any_ member of the Stackhouse clan about her hope chest, and she _definitely_ did not feel up to explaining it now. When Mama Stackhouse's snores became even once again, Michelle relaxed, moving quietly from the foyer to the dining room – the space farthest from the house's occupied rooms – and set the wooden box atop the lacquered table.

It was taunting her unabashedly.

Just like it had every other year prior.

Her shoulders slumped involuntarily as she sank into the chair she'd left pulled out – her entire body soon mimicking the same motion in kind. Gently, she opened the lid, treating the object and its obviated contents with the reverence they deserved, despite her despondency. Using the tips of her fingers, wishing she had remembered to bring her flat-tip tweezers downstairs, Michelle removed the few precious items contained within one by one, meticulously positioning them in front of her on the reclaimed wood table.

Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as she apprised them slowly, reverently gliding her hand across each piece one by one to honor them.

There was the pink blanket – gifted to her by Mama Stackhouse, one of the few surviving relics from her own childhood – which, despite being lightly faded, Michelle still adored. She thumbed the thin fabric between her fingers, reveling in its softness, bringing it to her cheek like she'd done every other year before. The cloth was already too thin – from wear and tear, from _age_ – and she knew extra handling would only make it weaker so, despite her inclinations to do otherwise, she abstained from touching it any more.

Carefully she slipped it back into the box, affectionately patting it one last time before turning her attentions to the other items she'd laid out before her.

There were random and small trinkets – gifted to her by friends and family – none larger than the size of her palm, all of them completely inappropriate for a newborn, including a charm shaped like a pair of wings. Fintan had given that one to her, insisting to a very pregnant Michelle that when her daughter was of age _that_ present would be spectacularly significant, would help her child to embrace her fairy heritage. At the time – and even now – she didn't understand his purpose, and believed the whole thing to be inexplicably foolish.

His kind had been actively destroying any and all human beings blessed with fairy genes.

Why would he want to celebrate that?

Shaking off her increasingly dark thoughts, Michelle carefully and methodically placed the small items back into the ornate box. She positioned them adeptly – in the proscribed arrangement she had established over the years – on top of Adele's blanket in such a way to ensure their continued safety, tarrying only momentarily when she came to the tiny wings. It _was_ a beautiful piece of jewelry, she had to admit, and expertly fashioned – perhaps not one of a kind, but created with love all the same.

As a silent yawn escaped her throat, Michelle begrudgingly admitted to herself that exhaustion had begun to creep in.

Whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to submit to its ministrations.

With a sigh, she started to pick up the remaining items, carefully depositing them back into her hope chest. One by one, the last of her secret treasures physically disappeared from sight. Michelle paused briefly as she lifted the penultimate item off of the dining room table, unconsciously thumbing at the well-worn and hand-designed cover.

The true origin of the gift had always evaded her.

One year it was just _there_ amidst her other keepsakes.

She'd never mentioned it to anyone – and especially not to Fintan. In fact, she'd felt almost _compelled_ to keep its existence to herself, to act as its guard. So like her other hidden treasures, she'd done her best to try to protect it. Surprisingly, the pages hadn't yellowed, not even slightly – age and the Louisiana humidity having apparently no effect on them, as both usually did to all books – and the watercolor pictures were as crisp as ever. Impossibly, it looked just as it had the day she found it.

The box Fintan had made was obviously charmed.

Though Michelle had had her doubts before, the book's pristine condition over the years had certainly given her the answer.

"The Princess and the Prophecy."

Michelle enthused softly, remembering how much she liked the heroic tale as she read the title out loud to herself before slipping it, and then the last of the items, into the box.

Silently she rose from her seated position, arranging her hands around the sides of her hope chest to gently lift it from the dining room table. Quiet as a church mouse, Michelle placed one socked foot in front of the other, seeking to limit the amount of noise she might make, as she crept across the hardwood floors towards the foyer. Once she reached the staircase, with an incomparable deftness and ease, she slowly lowered herself onto her knees and returned the box to its hidden compartment beneath the bottom step. Her treasures securely hidden, she headed back towards the room she shared with her husband, pausing only briefly to flick one last tear away.

The anniversary of her daughter's birth, and her death, had been expectedly hard on her.

Thankfully, tomorrow would be another day.


	16. Hanging by a Moment – Lifehouse

_A/N: Thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader._

* * *

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass.

It's about learning to dance in the rain."

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"What. Crawled. Up. My. Ass."

Eric parroted back at me, each punctuated word sharpened like a barb – in an obvious attempt to verbally cut me straight to the bone.

"Well, I will tell you WHAT CRAWLED UP MY ASS, _Sookie_ – _YOU_!"

I. Could've. Killed. Him.

Was _Drew_ fucking kidding me right now?!

First, he'd dismissed me like an errant child and called me _Princess_ – the spat-out moniker resurfacing all kinds of bad memories – and now he was blaming _me_ for all of his mercurial bullshit? _Oh, hell no_. I couldn't freaking believe it. Carefully pulling up my mental walls to block out Ezra, I let my telepathic shields slip down to pluck out whatever ridiculous notion Eric had swirling in his mind as he stomped around like a freaking man-child.

Throwing a temper tantrum.

That's what he was doing right now – like a fussing toddler.

' _Perhaps this is what fairies really do; they fuck with people's minds_. _Begging me to turn her, forcing me to worry about her, fucking feigning final death only to pop back into my life again. What if this has just been a game to her, merely a joke at my expense?_ '

Okay, _seriously_ – this was almost too much to handle.

What a fucking load of horse-pucky!

"Wait… W-what?"

I snorted impolitely – he really thought that I'd almost died twice to _tease_ him _–_ practically busting a gut as a serious case of the giggles overtook me momentarily.

That is, before red hot anger settled in.

Asshat son of a fucker.

" _THAT'S_ what you fucking think of me?! How the freakin' hell did you come to that asinine conclusion, _Drew_?!"

Calm down, Addy.

Breathe.

"You know what?" I asked rhetorically, my whole form twitching with magics, although my tone was composed and cool, "I'm not doing this shit, not on my birthday."

Giving into the swell of power, I disappeared before his very eyes.

That'd show him.

 _Pop_.

* * *

 _Someone else is out there._

I thought worriedly, as I paused at the back of the red-bricked house, the metal handle of the screen door pressed tightly in my hand.

It was just a gut feeling – nothing more.

But still I couldn't shake it.

Throwing my shields down as far as they'd go, pushing back the scattered thoughts belonging to my party guests, I tried to cast my mental net out past the edge of the property.

In truth, I'd never managed to stretch my telepathy over an acre away.

So I wasn't surprised at all that my efforts were in vain.

 _Maybe I'm wrong._

But I didn't think so, and even though my instincts hadn't been properly honed – my telepathy a crutch I'd used my entire life – I trusted them all the same.

 _You need Eric_.

Some – perhaps desperate – part of me whispered passionately.

 _Ugh_. There was always Ezra or Jax – hell Thalia, the freaking badass was inside – but I couldn't quite shake that nagging voice inside me that kept saying – no, you should go get Eric. _Traitor_. Giving in, despite every other rationale part of me screaming I do otherwise, I released the door's knob, closed my eyes, and focused hard on harnessing my fairy magics – just like Desmond had taught me.

 _Fine_ , I'd give him one more chance to pull his head out of his ass.

But that was it – after that, I was done playing nice.

 _Pop_.

* * *

"Please come back to the house."

I pretty much begged Eric after materializing in front of him, tamping down the urge to smile as a look of shock flashed across his face.

 _Oh yeah, no one had_ actually _told him yet that I was still part-fae._

"I promise I'll stop crawling up your _ass,"_ I offered, trying to bring levity to the heaviness introduced by our earlier exchange, "…cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye…at least for the night."

I raised my hands up and displayed my palms open, in surrender.

Like I was approaching a slobbering rabid dog.

When Eric fisted his hands at his side and launched into the air, I wondered why I'd even bothered. _Because you like him, you stupid girl_ – my mind hissed at me – _you liked him even_ before _Pam took you aside tonight to explain she's not_ with _him._ It was true. I'd liked him for a while – probably a little too much. Instead of sleeping today, like I sometimes did, I'd gone on a cleaning rampage, letting my nervous energy take the wheel and direct me to and fro. Hell, I'd practically run myself ragged before Jax had taken it upon himself to steal my cleaning supplies.

Had I not been running on fumes, I'd have really read him the riot act.

But instead he got off easy since, once I'd stopped flitting about, I'd succumbed to fatigue almost instantly.

Inopportunely immersed in my own internal pity party – my attention transfixed and foolishly singular – I failed to notice anyone else was around until they were quite literally on top of me. Not he or she, but they – as in two someone's. I didn't know who – _or what_ – they were, but there really wasn't time to worry about that right now. Their sharp claws ripped at my clothes and skin from all angles, while hot poker-like teeth gnashed and tore at my flesh, leaving trails of fire in their wake. _What the hell was happening?_ Every nerve searing and screaming, I struggled to fight back – fangs down and thrashing as wildly as my stiff body would allow, finding it impossible to hone in and summon the magics I'd need to pop away.

 _You need Eric… you… need… Eric._

My scattered thoughts chanted on repeat.

Their cadence slowing as I became overwhelmed by blinding pain.

Squeezing my eyes shut, bloody tears brimming at the corners, I howled " _ERI-C_!" as loudly as I could, not knowing if he'd even hear me or where the fuck he'd gone too. ' _Are you just going to stand here sniveling like a little bitch waiting for someone else to save you, or are you gonna fight back like a goddamn fucking Harding?_ ' – my adoptive father Henry's reproaching voice echoed mercilessly in my head, bouncing off the walls like a wrecking ball, impelling me – like he always had – to be stronger, to push harder like our namesake sorta suggested.

He may have been a narcissistic monster, but not everything he'd taught me had been worthless.

Some lessons he'd imparted were incredibly useful – like this one.

 _Finally_ finding purchase in one of the two's skin, my fingernails sinking through the female's tanned flesh like a warm knife into butter, I swung her body into my male attacker, throwing him several yards away. Refusing to lose focus – or possibly the advantage I'd just gained – I ignored the booming quake just off to my right. _Please let that be Eric_. Teeth clacking at each failure to connect, the woman twisted and flailed in my tenuous grasp, pushing then pulling against me as we continued to scrap and scrape at one another. Then suddenly a mouthwateringly exquisite scent burst into the air around me, tickling my nose – and the sharp pain coursing through my veins gave way to voracious and consuming hunger.

Overwhelming and intolerable _thirst_.

"AHHHH!"

She wailed deafeningly, as I tore my fangs into her neck, sucking harshly at the wound to imbibe mouthful after mouthful of the manna-like liquid.

She. Tasted. Heavenly.

As my appetite receded, my delectable meal bursting into light-refracting glittery dust – _oh well_ – all thoughts of assailants and assaults flew from my mind.

Attack? Schmattack.

 _I'm on fucking Cloud Nine._

Grinning – surely like a loon – as the taste of sugary rich nectar danced across my coated tongue, I stalked towards Eric, eyeing the man up and down and drinking him in like a tall glass of iced water on a swelteringly hot summer night. One not unlike this one. While temperature barely registered to me, I could appreciate that a late June night in Texas was nothing if not oppressively warm. I shook off the errant, and absolutely useless, thought as I closed the space between us, pleased to see that instead of disappearing into the sky or otherwise – like he had before – Eric was stock-still as if he'd been cast into stone.

 _Someone_ should _chisel a replica of this Adonis into marble –_ I couldn't help but think to myself.

Then people could admire him, day or night.

I tamped down the urge to pant, whistle, and generally _a-ooga_ as I mopped the puddle that was my metaphorical-self off of the dusty ground. Continuing to confidently sway my hips – _swish swish_ – I sauntered towards him until we were separated by inches at most. _Had he always smelled this enticing?_ Eau de Eric wafted between us, filling my nostrils, as I inhaled deeply – a heady, intoxicating experience, if there ever was one. While suppressing a full body shudder, resisting the urge to press and rub myself against his delectable – too temptingly lickable – body, I brushed my fingers over the soft fabric of his taut dress pants, lingering only briefly before unzipping the maddening enclosure and sinking my hand into the opening.

 _"_ Hmmmm _…"_ I hummed appreciatively – _somebody_ preferred to go commando, it seemed – as I palmed his rock-hard and impressively large cock, "Happy fucking birthday to me…"

The contented purr that rumbled through Eric's partially exposed chest went straight to my tingling core, stoking the crackling embers of desire within me.

I'd never felt anything like this before – so out of control, and abandoned by my rational self.

 _Did drinking blood straight from the source always feel_ this _good?_

Because if so, I'd really been missing out.

My lax and drifting thoughts rejoined the here and now as Eric stiffened beneath my explorative touch. Unfortunately, not in the good way. Without a word of protest, his face etched in a furrowed scowl, he cupped his cool hand over mine, extricating it from its new and happy home. Lip jutted out in a playful pout, I whimpered my disappointment, smiling wickedly and reaching out to take grasp of his throbbing member again just as a roar of sound erupted from close by.

Bursting the shimmering bubble world that had encapsulated the two of us.

 _Boooooo._

"WHAT THE FUCK," Ezra thundered, an accusing finger pointed squarely in my direction, "ARE YOU DOING!?"

I couldn't understand for the life of me why he was asking me that.

Wasn't it obvious?

"Celebrating my birthday, silly."

I teased lightly, my lopsided grin fleetingly twisting into an uneasy frown – as the previously dormant ember of pain within me threatened to spark into a searing blaze.

"Eric was just giving me my present."

 _One I'd really like to get back to playing with._

Although I'd have bet good money that sexy fun time was probably over.

"What happened, broder?"

Ezra asked worriedly, his eyes flitting up and down Eric's form and then mine, finally taking in our sorry state of dress – which was tattered and torn.

Whooshing to my side in less than seconds – my enhanced sight still barely catching more than a hazy blur – Ezra dropped down to the crackling ground to sit cross-legged before pulling me bridal style into his lap. Dust swept up around us in a tornado-like swirl, his quick movements disturbing the dry dirt of our under-watered yard. Coughing, I tucked my head against the curve of Ezra's neck, seeking respite from the cloudy air. The rumble rolling through Eric's chest was audible – surely not just to me – but my maker ignored it, focusing instead on peeling away the jagged strips of purple chiffon to examine my stomach and legs.

Oh yeah, I'd forgotten both were still wet with blood.

My own, unfortunately.

Obviously displeased by what he saw, Ezra's fangs popped down with a click before he crunched a gaping hole into his wrist. With a gentle and doting touch, he began to rub his blood over my still-healing wounds, causing me to wince and hiss in pain – Eric's growl still somehow louder than mine in the background. As my head lolled back in utter defeat, I finally called it. Time of death, exactly twelve seconds ago – the mood had officially been killed. Sexy time was _definitely_ over now. _Double boo_. Faintly and in my periphery – exhaustion hitting me like a freight train as my body knitted itself back together – I listened to Eric explaining at length what had happened. Honestly I was only catching a few stray words here and there... _ambushed_... _fairies_... _silver-teeth_ …

Hudda whadda now?

What did it matter what color their teeth were?

As my eyes struggled to stay open – an increasingly impossible feat – I considered asking the two of them to explain that one to me – really I did.

But instead I fell asleep.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

 _Wandering down a crooked path, the soles of my naked feet conforming to the shape of the bumpy cobbles, I stopped momentarily and peered up at the moonlit sky – at the beaming light I hoped was the North Star. Swinging my head down, and then side to side, I absorbed my dark green surroundings, the woods I knew without confirmation were part and parcel to the Louisiana swamps not far behind Eric's Shreveport home. It all felt wrong, but looked familiar and right, so I continued to meander down the stone-paved walk that somehow I had never noticed before._

 _Perhaps I'd always been too busy running._

 _Or maybe…_

 _I shook my head violently, expelling the unsettling thought that somehow reality had slipped from my grasp – that what felt so true was little more than a hallucination, or a dream. But it couldn't be. Could it?_ Yes, you stupid girl. _I banished the unbidden and chastising admonishment with the same fervor as the last, and increased my andante speed to one more allegro as if I could outrun it. Enjoying the whipping cool winds that kissed down the expanse of my unclothed arms – stringed music humming lightly in my ears – I closed my eyes, submitting to my senses and instincts, using both to guide me forward – and hopefully away from lurking predators and potential harm._

 _Both always seemed to be nipping at my heels recently…_

 _Ever since I became vampire._

 _Arms outstretched from my sides, my wingspan full and on display, I brushed my hands against dewy leaves and branches as I passed by, reveling in their waxy texture and sharp edges – the small bite comforting. I had been missing this, this freedom to just run like a wild child amongst the debris of nature, to act as if I didn't have a care in the world. The feeling was foreign – but pleasantly enjoyable – and I never ever wanted it to end._

 _And then surreptitiously it did._

As dreams usually do _._

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Blinking away the haze of sleep, my eyes slowly fluttered open – their lengthy lashes tickling the dewy apples of my cheeks – to meet another pair gazing deeply, if not also inquiringly, into mine.

"You okay, kid?"

Jax asked concernedly, raking a hand through his short light brown hair before rising from his kneeled position on the floor to stand next to me.

I nodded unequivocally, as I slipped my hands underneath me to prop myself up to a seated position – visibly surprised to feel the smooth velvet fabric of my duvet comforter below me.

Okay, so that told me _where_ I was.

But not much else.

"How long was I out?"

I croaked hoarsely, the vestiges of an uneasy slumber still lodged in my throat, avoiding the questions I really wanted to ask Jax – like how did I end up in my room, and where _the hell_ was my dress?

Because it'd only taken a split second to realize I wasn't wearing it anymore.

The torn cloth _had_ left little to the imagination, but _still_ …

Thumbing at the hem of the oversized tee, I tamped down impulse to groan, or possibly cry – _oh God, who saw me naked?_ Nervous anticipation bubbled and spit in my gut while I tried to hold the squirming question securely on my tongue. I'd been working on openness and honesty, but there were still some secrets tucked away in the vault of my mind – ones I never planned on releasing.

First, and foremost, that I could read minds, but a close second was my scars.

There were so many.

"Umm…" Jax paused, taking a moment to recollect, while I stifled the desire to grab the thought from his mind myself – I really was trying to be better about that, "I don't know, fifteen minutes ago or so."

"Who undressed me?"

I spit out quickly, unable to hold the burning inquiry at bay any longer – the altogether too real fear of someone seeing me stripped down and naked, in more ways than one, practically suffocating me.

 _Breathe, Addy – in and out – you used to do it all the time._

It was amazing to think of all the things I'd done as a human that now felt fairly foreign to me.

"Me. But I kept my eyes closed the whole time – I swear."

Jax admitted sheepishly, wringing his hands like he expected me to implode – an embarrassed blush creeping all the way up his neck to the tips of his ears.

Dropping my shields momentarily to confirm what I already knew to be true – _can't be too careful_ – I let out a heavy sigh of relief seconds before Jax did the same. Just like that the small amount of tension that had hung momentarily between us dissipated, like it'd been banished from the room. Things were always so easy with Jax.

"Thanks."

I offered politely, scooching over a bit to give him room to sit down on my queen-sized bed with me, which he did without hesitation.

"You missed one hell of a pissing contest while you down for the count," Jax laughed lightly, teasing a smile from my lips, " _Seriously_ , kid. It almost came to blows when I suggested taking your dress off. I thought Eric was about to toss me out the window before Godric intervened."

Oh, I would've paid good money to see that.

Not Jax almost getting thrown through a window, but everything else for sure.

"Everybody's still here, kid. If you want to get back to celebrating your eighteenth birthday party and stuff, I mean."

"Yeah I do."

I said almost immediately, surprising myself with how much I meant it despite feeling inexplicably rattled and confused by the earlier attack – but especially because of the _incident_ with Eric.

I wasn't exactly jumping and down to see him again after what I'd done.

 _But_ there was also a snowball's chance in hell that I'd be able to avoid him for rest of eternity.

 _Time to put my big girl panties on and face the music_ – I thought to myself once Jax exited the room. I took a quick shower to rinse away the dry and crackling remnants of blood leftover from the attack before heading over to my closet to do yet another costume change. Just any old thing wasn't going to cut it if I was gonna strut back out there with my head held high. The night hadn't gone to plan so far, but it was time to get it back on track.

It was my freaking birthday, dammit.

And come hell or high water I was gonna enjoy it.

* * *

"What's up with this music? Y'all throwin' Adds a party, or a wake?"

I heard Alcide enthuse seconds before I flounced into the Great Room with a pep in my step and a hitch in my giddy-up – my demeanor intentionally over the top and vibrant.

 _Fake it 'til you make it_ – Henry had always drilled into myself and my sister, Ginny.

Right now that lesson seemed more than apropos.

Dressed in a pair of low-rise dark wash jeans and a not quite see-through gray tank top, I felt more than comfortable in my own skin and still somewhat dressy all the same. _Mission accomplished_. I needed all the armor, and the self-confidence, I could get right now.

Only one came to me naturally.

So I did my best considering the circumstances.

"Alcide!"

I squealed gleefully like a high school girl, embracing him in a tight hug much to the open chagrin of my vampire guests – the smell of _dog_ something they'd all pretty much lamented at one time or another.

Well, tough cookies – as far as I was concerned.

He was my friend, and I was sure as hell gonna address him as such.

"Adds, I got my 'Pod on me," Alcide whispered in my ear, his arms wrapped around me like mine were around him, "If you'll lemme plug it in, we can turn this semi-snooze fest into a real rager."

Releasing him from my hold, I rolled my eyes – I liked my classical music and he knew it – but also nodded my head affirmatively, happy to let him steer the party in a less somber direction.

A change of tune would probably do the group some good.

Plus, it'd be a distraction – one I sorely needed.

As Alcide fiddled with the music, I settled down next to Jax on the couch, who was weirdly engaged in a heated debate with Thalia regarding weaponry and its evolution over the ages. I'd barely heard her speak before – since previously she'd found verbal communication abhorrent to some degree – and now she was talking at length as if it was no big deal. Sure, her speech was still stilted and her word choice curt, but she was operating outside her usual comfort zone, which made me feel inexplicably hopeful – and stupidly proud.

Thalia was proving that, given the right circumstances, old dogs really could learn new tricks.

That wonders never ceased.

As the melodic stylings of _Imagine Dragons' Thunder_ filled the spacious room, its architectural acoustics enriching and enhancing the semi-synthesized tune, I let the song wash over and envelop me in its dulcet tones and bassist beats. Music had always been my preferred method of escapism. While some people read or busied their hands with hobbies, I listened and allowed myself to disappear inside symphonic compositions, meditating like a Buddhist monk – sailing away to my _happy place_.

I'd never given much attention to modern music, having developed a strong – bordering on abhorrent – distaste for _teenybopper pop_ in particular.

But when Alcide introduced me to alternative rock, I'd taken to it like a fish to water.

Still seated on the plush beige couch, it wasn't long before I found myself rhythmically tapping and swaying to the beat, lost in the metronomic refrain. My duties as hostess were all but forgotten – not that anyone seemed to mind. _Thank goodness_. Earlier, I'd been more than a little worried that my rag-tag bunch of friends and family might superbly awkward up this night with all their supernatural issues.

But _nope_!

They were all getting along just fine.

"Dance with me."

Eric ordered plaintively, snapping me out of my closed-eyed reverie to spy his large hand thrust out towards me as clanging bells signaled the start of _Lana Del Ray's Video Games_.

Slowly tilting my head up, I discovered his expression to be one of displeasure – his face painted with blatant and open irritation – which honestly was more than a little bit off-putting. _What was Drew's freaking deal right now?_ It wasn't as if I'd _made_ him come over here. Hell, if he'd decided to avoid me like the plague after whole groping him thing, I'd have totally accepted it.

But this was something else altogether, and completely out of the blue.

Honestly, it had me all kinds of on edge.

"Umm…"

I stalled uncomfortably, not quite knowing how to react, or what to say.

"She'd love to."

Jax replied eagerly – _traitor_ – breaking from his chat with Thalia to playfully elbow me in the side, earning himself a quick jab in retort – which caused him to gasp as the air surged from his lungs.

 _Whoops_.

I thought sarcastically, before he began to cough and sputter next to me – a twinge of guilt wriggling a soft _sorry_ from me as Jax struggled to catch his breath.

Ugh, I hadn't meant to poke him _that_ hard.

Even months later, my newfound vampire strength was still taking some getting used to.

"Fine," I conceded flatly, overtly sighing my resignation before I placed my hand into Eric's outstretched one, noting that his palm twitched slightly as his cool skin pressed against mine, "One dance, _Drew_."

Despite how it might've looked, I _hadn'_ t given in just because Jax had rudely intervened on my behalf – this decision was all me.

But my meddlesome friend was _definitely_ going to pay for that offense later.

After leading me over to the unfurnished and open-aired space – the size of our Great Room having been enhanced by the absorption of an unneeded fourth bedroom – Eric rethreaded his fingers through mine and then snaked his other arm about my waist. Outside of life or death situations, it was probably the closest I'd ever been to anyone other than Ginny – short hugs with friends not included – in my entire life. Paige and Henry, my apparently adoptive parents – our lack of relation still at times unreal to me – had never been too keen on physical displays of affection, or really tenderness, at all.

So the sensation of Eric's arm wrapped around me was novel, and exceedingly foreign.

But not unpleasantly so.

I wasn't sure how many eyes – if any – were on the two of us as I followed Eric's lead, allowing him to move and spin me across the empty hardwoods. Honestly, I was losing myself, once again, but this time in the fluidity of our motions, letting the music take corporeal form through me and my feet. Although I'd never studied – dance not really being my thing – I could tell we were waltzing, our sides pressed against one another as we traced circular patterns into the light sheen of dust bespeckling the floor.

 _Damn, I knew I'd forgotten to clean something earlier_.

Yep, even with everything else going on, _that_ was apparently where my mind was wandering off to.

Cursing myself internally for not staying in the now and present, I decided to be a bit bold and rested my cheek against Eric's muscled and cool chest, reveling in how hard yet smooth it was. He'd removed his shredded buttoned shirt sometime while I was out cold, which left his upper body covered by only a thin cotton layer – a measly barrier at best. _Lucky me._ As I stifled the urge to inhale his heady scent – a singular and musky aroma of damp earth blended with hints of the salty sea – I felt Eric's fingers grasp the swell of my hip almost possessively before slowly trailing upwards.

 _Interesting_ – I thought excitedly, making zero moves to discourage him, or his roaming hand.

I desperately wanted to know where it was going.

As his fingertips slipped underneath the hem of my shirt to brush against the waistband of my denim pants, I tamped down the overwhelming urge to moan appreciatively. Instead, I bit my lip so hard it bled – _thank goodness for spontaneous healing_. Every twitch of his explorative digits – their nonlinear path never straying far from the edge of my jeans – sent thunderbolts of electricity tearing through my newly ignited form. The intensity continued to increase as he, almost reverently, circled the lowest knobs of my spine, teasing me within an inch of my sanity – albeit maybe not on purpose.

Amazingly enough my bare feet managed to keep up with his, moving in time to the hypnotic beat.

Despite the growing weakness in my knees.

Laying his calloused palm flat against my hipbone, Eric deftly ceased his easy ministrations, drawing our waltz to a close, and dipped me backwards – the finale-like flourish coinciding perfectly with the song's end. Hearing light clapping and the next track's opening chords distantly in the background, I peered up at Eric under my fluttering lashes, surprised to see pitch black pupils staring at me. _Gosh I wish he'd kiss me._ Still holding me sideways, he dragged his free thumb gently across my bottom lip – wiping away the slight smear of blood still stained there from when I pierced it with my teeth.

"It's not poisonous anymore – my blood, I mean. I'm not saying you should... I just thought you'd wanna know…"

I rambled nervously, as Eric righted me to my feet and glared at me incredulously – my admission otherwise obviated by the unfamiliar song blaring through the room's mounted speakers.

"Did Godric tell you about that?"

He ground out through gritted teeth, his dilated eyes still fixated on the browning red stain – his form stiff and stock-still like rigor mortis had settled in, while his thoughts were nearly ear-piercing.

 _'He fucking tells her everything!'_

Honestly, Eric had never seemed scary to me before – not even when he was in full Sheriff mode.

But right now I was shaking in my metaphorical boots a little bit.

"No, Pam did."

I admitted sheepishly, my usually strong voice wavering and moderately fearful – like maybe I'd done something wrong by outing her bad behavior to her maker.

I dunno _why_ – that woman and I were never gonna be besties.

At most, we'd maybe end up as frenemies.

Gripping his other hand around my forearm, Eric pulled me into the adjoining kitchen space – and away from prying eyes – his own narrowed and back to stormy blue. _The moment had passed_. He released me as he turned towards the sink, sighing almost wistfully before twisting the faucet's knob and rinsing his hands below the water's down-pouring torrent. Before setting it back into its previous position, he wiped his damp hands dry with the crocheted towel adorning the stove's door.

My daytime hobbies had at one time including the art of needlework, but I'd since abandoned the craft.

It'd been an unsatisfyingly complete waste of time.

"This is why you ran away," Eric stated plainly, like pieces of a puzzle were finally snapping together in his head, "Not because Pam injured you but because you were _upset_."

He spit out the last word like he found the notion particularly abhorrent and loathsome.

In fairness to him, it probably was.

Internally, I debated about whether or not to correct Eric's misconstrued version of the night in question. I hadn't left Louisiana because I was _upset_ Pam was mean to me– as he'd so mildly put it. Sure, her harsh words may have catalyzed my hasty retreat, but she'd never been the cause. I'd actually left to hand myself over to the Texas King, so I could protect my loved ones from him…

And from _me_.

Of course, no one – not even Ezra – knew that yet.

"No, I was gonna give myself to King Whiskey like he wanted."

I mumbled quickly, refusing to relapse under the guise of leaving the _past in the past_ – because then everything I'd lied about would fall under that heading.

It'd be the easy way out.

The very route I was trying to avoid taking.

' _She had planned to sacrifice herself to Jameson?! Is she fucking kidding?!_ ' Eric's thoughts screamed again, so loudly I couldn't help but hear them – his face impassive and blank – as his curled hands cracked the discolored porcelain of the age-worn sink, ' _Thank the_ fucking _Gods, Thalia buried her_!'

I mean, I'd almost suffocated to death because of it.

But _… agreed._

"Why would you do that?"

Eric asked matter-of-factly after several minutes had passed, unclenching his hand from the now fractured basin to rake it through his short blond hair.

"Because… people were getting hurt… I wasn't worth all that trouble."

I choked out sullenly, tears brimming in my eyes as an infinite stream of memories suddenly filled my mind – Henry's harsh insults stinging me like an angry swarming cloud of bees.

One day I'd be rid of the insecurities he'd fostered in me, I was sure of it.

But sadly not _today_.

Eric remained silent as he crossed the few kitchen tiles between us and enveloped me in his arms. _Shhhing_ softly in between my hiccupping sniffles – unbidden tears slipping down my cheeks as the emotional floodgates opened within me – he finger-painted soothing formless shapes onto the canvas of my back. Pressing myself against his upper body, staining his white cotton undershirt red, I realized that I hadn't openly wept in front of another person since maybe… ever.

According to Henry, Hardings weren't _allowed_ to cry.

It made us unlovable, and downright ugly – the second, a cardinal sin.

"Do not ever say such a thing about yourself, Addy," Eric whispered quietly, tucking my bowed head under his chiseled chin – drawing us even closer still, "You are everything to… Godric. He would gladly lay down his life, if it meant you would be safe."

"I know that _now_ – I believe it even; I just didn't _then_."

I replied truthfully, disengaging from Eric's comforting embrace – _that shirt is definitely ruined_ – to head over to the kitchen sink.

After grabbing the hanging dishtowel, I wetted it under the faucet and began to wipe the drying blood off my face – _worst part of being a vampire, hands-down_. Checking my reflection every so often in the window, I scrubbed away the physical manifestation of my self-doubt and emotional pain, surprised – as I watched the pink-hued water swirl down the drain – by how much freer I felt. Like that maybe one day I really _would_ be able to forget all the nonsense Henry had drilled into me.

I couldn't help but smile at that.

Little by little, I was becoming whole again.

"You are so different now – happier. Is it your companionship with the demon that has changed you?"

Eric asked inquisitively, brushing an errant strand of hair off of my forehead with his thumb before tucking it behind my ear – his eyes lingering on the pebbled scars on my neck.

The ones he gave me.

He had a really weird thing about them – _what was_ that _about?_

"Jax? Oh ummm… not really," I answered seconds later, snapping back to the conversation at hand, "I mean, he's a good friend, but his empathic powers don't work on me – if that's what you're asking."

"Is he your _friend_ or your _roommate,_ Addy?"

Eric bit out crossly – _geez, this guy and his mood swings_ – putting extra emphasis on each of the choices he'd given me like they were mutually exclusive – but they weren't, not necessarily.

 _Oh shit, I just got it!_

Suddenly, I understood exactly what had gotten Eric all riled up earlier.

"Adds, there ya are!" Alcide bellowed excitedly as he stepped into the kitchen, interrupting me before I could put Eric's concerns to rest, "Ya wanna open your presents now? We're all missing ya something fierce. Ya shouldn't let this guy," he motioned at Eric, who pretty much growled in response, "monopolize all your time, birthday girl."

"Sure, Alcide! Be right there!"

I agreed in my most cheerful voice, feigning excitement since I didn't _really_ wanna rejoin the party – I'd been enjoying talking with Eric.

 _It'd_ easily _been our longest conversation to date._

With a nod, Alcide disappeared back into the other room.

So I had to get this out quickly, since I hadn't bought myself a lot of time.

" _Friends_ ," I answered firmly as I gazed up into Eric's ocean blue eyes, watching as they darkened slightly – in the good way this time, "Jax and I have _only_ _ever…_ Just. Been. Friends. I mean, how gross would that be anyways, he's like my _brother_ …"

Then in the blink of an eye, my back was against the sink, hands were everywhere, and Eric's mouth was on mine.

 _Happy fucking birthday to me, indeed._

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"Merry Day of Human Birth, Dotter."

Ezra effused gleefully – no one daring to correct his wild choice of phrase – as he handed me a meticulously wrapped box topped with a red-ribboned bow.

Presentation-wise it was so gorgeous I could barely stand to disturb it.

But Ezra was looking at me so expectantly – eyes alight with excitement – and that _was_ the point, so that I just had to.

"New running shoes! Thank you!"

I squealed happily, throwing my arms about my maker, who openly hugged and squeezed me back – oh my gosh, this was exciting!

I hadn't gone out for a run since Louisiana.

I'd really been missing it.

Even though I'd only opened two other gifts – both neatly stacked on the glass-topped coffee table in front of me – so far Ezra's was my favorite. Jax had gotten me some movies I'd missed in the theatre, ones I'd really wanted to see before I turned vampire, while Alcide had given me a gift card to buy more music along with a couple _Twenty-one Pilots_ and _Fall-out Boy_ CDs. All three had been incredibly thoughtful, but Ezra's present felt infinitely more personal to me since we'd actually met while pounding pavement at White Rock Lake years ago.

 _Wow, I can't believe I've known him for half a decade._

Although as immortals, we'd have possibly hundreds of lifetimes still to come – God willing.

Otherwise, I'd assumed that was _it_ , as far as presents went at least. Pam? Well, she wasn't here by choice so I doubted she'd felt obligated to fulfill that particular celebratory expectation. And Thalia? That woman marched to the beat of her own drum, which I pictured as a style akin to jazz, or something… indescribably unique and singular. So if she'd even _considered_ buying me a present my heart would probably stop – for good this time.

Then there was Eric.

 _Mmmm… Eric._

Just thinking about him – _THAT KISS_ – had me itching to do it again. My body had never really tingled with desire before, but when Eric's hand flew into my hair and his knee pressed between my legs, I nearly combusted into flames – a swell of pleasure snaking through me and scorching every nerve raw. It felt indescribable, and weirdly life-affirming – like a veritable dam inside me cracked and broke, letting all my pent up frustrations take center stage and demand resolution. Boom, crash – _STARS_ …

Even the live blood hadn't been so good.

In fact, it hadn't even come close.

"Sookie?"

"Hmm?"

I hummed distractedly, more than aware that I'd completely zoned out, tracing my fingertips across my lips as I remembered the soft but urgent way Eric's mouth had dominated mine.

"Sookie."

Ezra admonished lightly, obviously irritated he'd been forced to call my name a second time – his annoyance apparent not just in our bond, but in his chiding tone.

Opening eyes I hadn't realized until _just_ now were closed, I peered around me, taking in not only the space but everyone's expectant expressions. _Did I miss something?_ I mean, I knew that I most likely _had_ – I could read a room – but truly I was at a loss here. So I sat there on the beige couch with my hands folded in my lap and shrugged my shoulders confusedly, the universal gesture for " _what?"_ , hoping that someone – anyone – would take pity on the birthday girl, and throw me a freaking bone.

Was that too much to ask?

No, the answer thankfully was no.

"Eric got you a present, kid. Open it!"

Jax enthused puckishly – his grin matching his encouragement – bumping his shoulder into mine before pointing at a haphazardly tissued blob placed next to my opened gifts on the table.

As it turned out, I _had_ seen it there.

But to me it'd looked like nothing more than discarded trash.

Hands weirdly trembling, so lightly I was sure only the other vampires could see, I lifted the balloon-weight looking pouch and placed in onto my jeaned lap. Picking at the tight and unbowed knot, I tried to untie the red crimped curling ribbon, finding it almost aggravatingly impossible. Fumbling to gain purchase in the loop, I tamped down the urge to huff out my frustration, until suddenly with one swift tug the threaded piece gave way.

Eureka!

 _Why I hadn't just ripped into it, I really couldn't say._

As the thin paper sides fell open enough for me to see the contents, I gasped audibly – spying the familiar emblem – and my hands flew up to cover my surely gaping expression. _He didn't… did he?_ – my eyes flitted to Eric's mirthful blues before landing back onto the object in my lap. No, he wouldn't have done something like this – there was no way. It had to be some kind of cruel trick, or at best a mistake.

Even if it wasn't either of those things, I definitely couldn't accept it.

It was _much_ too generous… among other things.

"C'mon, Adds. What is it? We wanna see!"

Alcide prodded expectantly, uprighting from his slouched position against the fireplace mantle to try to peer over the tissue's edge – my hands almost reflexively covering the item from view.

"Yeah, kid. You don't gotta play up the suspense! We're interested, we swear!"

Jax joked teasingly, his hands playfully darting towards mine – forcing me to swat them away.

"Yes, Sookie _. Show_ us." Ezra requested firmly, rising from his seated position on the loveseat to practically hover over me, "What is it? What has your brother gifted you?"

Pam yawned audibly – earning herself a reproachful glare from Thalia – as she fastidiously picked at the now-chipped polish on her nails – obviously wanting to be anywhere else but here.

In this awkward moment, I seconded that sentiment.

Everyone's attentions were starting to make me feel a little claustrophobic.

"It is a key – a car key to be precise – to a Porsche Cayman, which will be delivered tomorrow night."

Eric interceded nonchalantly – as his arm lightly brushed against mine – casually sipping from his goblet of warmed blood with a small scowl painted about his countenance.

The same one he always wore.

 _Had I ever actually seen him smile?_ – for the life of me, I couldn't remember.

Lifting my cupped hand, I threaded my pointer finger through the fob's ring, holding up the key and moving it around for everyone to see. _No sense hiding it; cat's already outta the bag anyways_. Even though I heard a couple exclamations of excitement – from Jax and Alcide obviously – I kept my eyes fixed squarely on Ezra's blank expression, looking for even the minutest of twitches or tics – our bond having gone almost unnervingly silent.

Evidently, he was not pleased by this turn of events.

Although those who didn't know him very well would've missed it for sure.

* * *

The party festivities dwindled down and ended pretty soon after I opened my presents.

But also, of course, because the sun was less than an hour from the horizon.

Likely sensing the thick and swirling tension – probably without the use of his empathetic abilities – Jax had offered to drive into Dallas with Alcide, to stay the night elsewhere. _"Nothing's gonna get resolved tonight if I'm still within earshot, kid," he'd explained as he threw a few things into his backpack, "And y'all have got a lot to discuss, I'm sure. Hell, you almost died tonight, kid! We can't pretend that didn't happen."_ With his words – the truth of them – still resting heavy on my mind, Jax'd kissed my forehead, and given my hand a light squeeze, before Alcide had wrapped me up in a big ol' bear hug – both in their own way wishing me luck, and also a good night.

Leaving just us vampires out at the house – alone, and miles away from civilization.

 _Now,_ my eighteenth birthday party was _truly_ over.

* * *

 _A/N: EPOV next chapter, including his version of the kiss, if anyone felt bereft._


	17. Tear in My Heart – Twenty-one Pilots

_A/N: Thanks to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader._

 _Also to my guest reviewer, spot on. Thank you! I am so glad my betas and I are not the only ones who have been perceiving his actions as such. His behavior will be addressed, but not fully resolved here._

* * *

My heart is my armor  
She's the tear in my heart  
She's a carver  
She's a butcher with a smile  
Cut me farther  
Than I've ever been

\- Tear in My Heart – Twenty-one Pilots

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"Do not worry. Your sister is safe with the demon."

Godric placated softly, patting his hand against the flexed bicep of my arm reassuringly – my hand curled tightly in a fist – as I watched the supernatural being in question carrying an unconscious Addy down the house's dimly lit hallway.

"Come. We have much to discuss."

Nodding my assent – vision still tinged with a heavy sheen of red – I turned on my heel to follow my maker, grimacing slightly when I heard the tell-tale click of the spring bolt as it depressed into the strike plate. I could not believe Godric not only tolerated that fucking demon spawn – that _jackass_ – but that he trusted him with Addy. More than me! While she was fucking unconscious, and in her _most_ vulnerable state, no less! It took every ounce of self-restraint within me to stop myself from tearing _both_ of them in two, to keep my growling beast at bay.

Godric had always been obsessively protective of Addy.

But ever since she had been turned vampire, it had gotten so much worse.

Previously, I had broached the subject once – just once – my fader's welfare the sole thing on my mind – only to be met with an unyielding, stalwart resistance. Had he not insisted otherwise, his persistence echoed by the feelings rumbling through our bond, I would have sworn he believed Addy to be his soul's mate, that he was overcome by something akin to love – or jealousy. But _whatever_ it fucking was that had driven him to adopt such extreme measures to shield her from our world – his latest refusal to disclose pertinent information revolving around tonight's events – it was no longer just hurting _him_ , but risking her life as well.

Addy had almost fucking died tonight!

And I, for one, was no longer going to idly stand by.

"I believe, as long as she is amenable to it, that Addy should go back with Thalia to Europe – to train for the Trials."

I gritted out tersely as Godric closed his office door behind us, the surge of irritation in our bond instantly reducing to a trickle as he clenched his jaw and swiveled around to stare disdainfully at me.

"Train… _for the Trials_ … in Europe…" he repeated incredulously as his brown eyes burned with barely contained fire – pupils blown black like smoke, "No! I will not allow her to be subjected to the Trials so soon after her turning. Your sister will remain here, with me, where she can be protected. She is still young – a child – she needs…"

 _Was he fucking kidding me?_

This delusion had been entertained for far too long already.

"SHE IS NOT A CHILD!"

I snarled venomously – my beast clanging its sharpened talons against the steel bars of its metaphorical cage – as my fangs snicked down violently, painfully.

Swallowing bitterly, I choked down the blood that spilled into my mouth, waiting for my maker's refutation – to bear the brunt of his expected wrath.

But although Godric stayed silent – ominously so – I did not waver or stray from my purpose, instead soldiering on.

"Addy is _NOT_ a child – by anyone's standards! For _fuck's sake_ , we are all here to celebrate some stupid rite of human passage into fucking _adulthood_!"

I snorted crossly, blowing out shallow and angry breaths as I stalked back and forth in half-moon arcs – my eyes narrowing to slits, matching those glaring back at me harshly.

"Not that it fucking matters because… She. Is. _VAMPIRE_!"

An exceptional one, at that.

Addy's stoicism, the control she levied over her blood-thirsting beast, rivaled even the oldest among us.

Unable to cease my nearly frenzied pacing, I continued to circle the small space like an animal held in captivity, surely rutting my path into the floor. Each heavy and echoing footfall – as it pounded against the wood-slatted grain – increased my growing irritation, and ire. It was altogether too quiet, a true rarity since it was something that did not usually bother me – deafening silence a thing I had not only accustomed myself to, but sometimes preferred.

This was very much _not_ one of those times.

I wished my maker would say something – anything – instead of appraising me slowly.

"Are you quite done, broder?"

Godric retorted coolly, after almost a minute had passed, as he strode over behind his desk to sink into the leather chair – an eerie calmness not only washing over his expression but flooding our tie.

Reducing the fiery blaze of hot anger burning within me to nothing more than a few hissing embers.

Simultaneously perturbed and inexplicably relieved, I mumbled my acrid assent.

"She is _not_ …" Godric sighed resignedly, leaving me in a state of confusion that transcended all other emotions battling for dominance within me, "…despite your misguided beliefs, and fervent declarations – vampire. Sookie is only partially a vampire, at best."

He paused expectantly, weaving his fingers together pensively to rest under his chin – his elbows set on the mahogany bureau – waiting perhaps for me to don a look of shock or disbelief.

I remained impassive, unfettered by his admission – who cared if she was not fully vampire?

She was _still_ one of us!

"She _must_ be raised differently, handled more gingerly – shielded from threats or harm. Because she is dead, but also alive, to an extent," Godric continued wistfully, sighing once again as he averted his gaze from mine before unraveling his hands, "She _breathes;_ her heart _beats_. Not only can Sookie stay awake during the day – ignore the pull of the dawn, and deny the urge to sleep – she can go out into the light. Sometimes, she will even spend hours – _HOURS_ \- basking in the glow of the midday sun…"

Now _this_ was certainly news to me.

But it was not appalling or upsetting, in even the slightest of ways – just interesting.

"So your plan is _what_ then – to petition for an exemption? To lock her away for an _eternity_? To deny her any insights into her vampiric nature?! To fucking _HOBBLE_ her?!"

Quipping back bitingly, I interrupted him, feeling _fiercely_ protective of my maker's progeny as I punctuated my words – slamming my clenched fists down onto his otherwise pristine desk.

I grinned inwardly as the hard wood splintered and groaned, indenting slightly in response to my forceful ministrations.

 _By the Gods, that had been satisfying._

"YES, IF THAT IS WHAT IT FUCKING TAKES TO SECURE HER FUTURE!"

He shouted back, the volume of his voice growing with each word – shame filling our bond as he realized not only what he had said but exactly what it had _meant_.

That he would willingly hurt her, on purpose and at any cost, in his crazed effort to keep her safe.

His unspoken admission that it was not about her, it was about _him_.

I _had_ meant to push him this far, but that reminder did nothing to stave off my own guilt. _What other choice did I have?_ Honestly, I had none. Godric had become so attached to Addy – his own thirst for life entrenched in her ongoing existence – that it had bordered on being considered inappropriate long before she became vampire. But at least then, while she was still human, Addy still had her days, and some semblance of independence from him. Of course, she had been trapped instead under that asshole Henry's thumb – the mere thought of her familial abuser making my fangs snick down in anger.

But had Godric acted much less sadistic towards her? Honestly, no.

My maker had been handicapping his newest child, and by his own declaration, intentionally.

"Knock."

Thalia stated bluntly as she swung open Godric's office door, slicing through the viscous fog of tension – without actually bothering to rap her knuckles against the white painted wood to alert us to her arrival.

The little Greek vampire never had been willing to engage in social pleasantries.

Apparently, knocking also fell into the same category.

"Demon said she woke. You come now; party for her. Quit bicker bullshit."

To the point as always, Thalia finished her surprisingly long diatribe and disappeared, leaving the door ajar – assuredly on purpose, to reinforce her message we should leave Godric's office post-haste.

"We will continue our conversation about Addy's participation in the Trials later."

Godric promised somberly, hopping to his feet before he whooshed through the opened exit, back towards the Great Room – to celebrate the birthday of the child he had just admitted he had aggrieved.

 _Yes_ – I thought to myself as I nodded, not knowing whether he had seen it or not.

 _We most certainly fucking would be_.

* * *

"I told her – Addy – we're not _together_ together, earlier tonight – in case you wanted to know."

Pam whispered conspiratorially as she pulled me aside, our bond ringing with the truth of her statement – the first song playing from the dog's iPod obviating any chance of being overheard.

"Why?'"

I inquired skeptically, not because I was calling Pam's motives into question – although perhaps I should have been – but because she likely would not care.

Addy was already spoken for.

By her fucking demon _roommate_ , of all beings.

"Eric, _really_ … when it comes to that girl, you are so fucking obtuse."

"I am _nothing_ of the sort!"

I disagreed vehemently, growling lowly as I stalked away from my child and towards the _girl_ in question, readied to prove Pam wrong – once and for all.

"Dance with me."

It was not what I had planned to say as I approached Addy, who had been swaying to the beat of the music while still seated on the couch.

But it would do.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

"I was gonna give myself to King Whiskey like he wanted."

Addy muttered sheepishly, her wide blue eyes clouding with an emotion I could not identify as the infuriating words rolled off her darting tongue and slipped past her pink-hued lips.

 _She had planned to sacrifice herself to Jameson?!_

Was she fucking kidding?!

Instantly, my thoughts plunged into a snarling mess of consuming darkness, my outward expression steeled and unchanging, as I grasped the edge of the well-worn kitchen basin firmly. _Too_ strongly, I realized as the porcelain material cracked beneath my strong grip, pulling me out of the tsunami-like swell of anger that been threatening to take me under. _No one had hurt Addy_ – I reminded myself; she was safe and standing, albeit with an unreadable look, mere feet from me. But of course, my mind still flashed with every other possible likelihood – all with the same outcome: I would have lost her.

Did she have a fucking death wish!?

 _Thank the_ fucking _Gods, Thalia buried her_!

"Why would you do that?"

I queried emotionlessly after calming myself down, releasing the now broken sink from my taut hold, immediately regretting the indisputable fact that my feelings had overcome me.

"Because… people were getting hurt… I wasn't worth all that trouble."

Addy enthused morosely – teary-eyed and distant – her gaze settled on nothing in particular as she stroked her hands up and down her arms reassuringly.

Refusing to subject Addy to the demons now clutching me tight, I worked to calm my ignited nerves and still the fluttering anxieties coursing through me. While I was displeased at her lack of self-confidence – her belief she was undeserved of the lengths others had been willing to go for her – I could not even entertain holding it against her. She had obviously been through a whole host of awful things in her short life that I had no personal framework to comprehend, let alone understand.

' _No, Henry! Please, NO! I'll be good! I'll be good!_ '

The desperate pleas Addy had made during her nightmares continued to haunt me.

"Shhhhhh…"

I soothed quietly as I enveloped my maker's child in my arms, folding her shaking form against me – pressing her closely to me as she began to unleash a veritable horde of bloody tears.

This was the second shirt tonight I would have to trash.

Not that I cared.

Continuing to supportively _shush_ Addy as she alternately sobbed and hiccupped – overwhelmed by emotion – I rubbed my hands carefully over the expanse of her cloth-covered back, missing the skin-to-skin contact I had made while dancing earlier. Just _touching_ her, innocently brushing the tips of my fingers across the curve of her hip, had sent electric jolts straight to my groin. I felt like a prick for thinking of it now – my dick twitching against the zipper confines of my pants – while she cried in my arms. But I had spent so long, too long really, convincing myself that she meant _nothing_ to me.

Deluding myself.

Because at some point, she had fundamentally become everything.

"Do not ever say such a thing about yourself, Addy," I murmured softly, tucking her bowed head under my chiseled chin – happily drawing us even closer together still, "You are everything to…" _me_ , "…Godric. He would gladly lay down his life, if it meant you would be safe."

"I know that _now_ – I believe it even; I just didn't _then_."

Addy emphasized decisively, pulling herself out of my embrace – leaving me feeling bereft, as though she had belonged there – before heading over to the sink.

I watched raptly, my focus tunneled and narrowed, as she made short work of the bloody tracks trailing down her porcelain-colored face with a wetted stitched towel. _That bit of cloth was certainly ruined too_. She seemed content – imbued by the light Godric said she still carried within her – and more relaxed than I had ever seen her before. She even smiled blithely at her own reflection once her ministrations were complete, before turning back to face me.

Was this the influence of her demon boyfriend, titled _roommate_?

The very thought made my blood boil.

"You are so different now – happier. Is it your companionship with the demon that has changed you?"

I inquired urgently, remembering my initial aim as I stepped forward to brush at a wayward strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear as my eyes settled on the two pebbled scars about her neck.

The ones I had given her.

 _She would be MINE, not some demon's –_ I thought selfishly _– had Godric not intervened._

"Jax? Oh ummm… not really," she responded seconds later, "I mean, he's a good friend, but his empathic powers don't work on me – if that's what you're asking."

Of _fucking_ course, that was not what I had been asking _._

Why would I give a _shit_ about his abilities?!

"Is he your _friend_ or your _roommate,_ Addy?"

I rephrased gruffly, intentionally stressing each word in an effort to coax out of her the _exact_ nature of her relationship with the _jackass_ – as white-hot anger bubbled irascibly in my gut.

My patience was wearing thin.

Not that I had very much to begin with.

"Adds, there ya are!"

The fucking dog bellowed excitedly as he stepped into the kitchen space, acting as though he had not laid eyes on Godric's child in years, instead of minutes.

I could not help but roll my eyes at his animated and overly exuberant display.

Truly, had he a tail, it would have been wagging.

"Ya wanna open your presents now? We're all missing ya something fierce. Ya shouldn't let this guy monopolize all your time, birthday girl."

"Sure, Alcide! Be right there!"

Addy offered cheerfully, her previously tight-lipped expression widening into a breathtaking grin as it overtook her face – the furrow in her brow disappearing, relaxing into oblivion.

By the Gods, she had a positively entrancing smile.

Without even the smallest bit of effort, she had once again drawn me under her spell.

Forgetting all about the fucking dog and his untimely interruption, I quickly appraised Addy's ensemble for the second time tonight, mentally kicking myself for not doing so earlier. She had chosen something much more casual than the purple dress, pairing a loose silver-gray silk tank top with some tapered dark-wash jeans. Unlike her flowing blouse, those quite _literally_ hugged her small curves like a second skin. In combination, the two pieces were boldly suggestive, but also unapologetically innocent.

An amalgamation of two seemingly incompatible things.

Like her.

" _Friends_."

Addy said resolutely out of the blue, gazing up into my eyes – suddenly so close to me I could feel her breath dance against hotly my skin.

Wait…

 _What did she say?_

"Jax and I have _only_ _ever…_ Just. Been. Friends. I mean, how gross would that be anyways, he's like my _brother_ …"

 _Gross… Her brother… Only ever just been friends…_

All of it, music to my ears.

Inhibitions shredded into ribbons, libido set aflame, I practically lunged forwards, caging Addy between myself and the broken sink. After tangling my hand into Addy's curled blonde locks, my lips captured hers in milliseconds, possibly less. Showing extreme restraint I waited for half a minute before I allowed my tongue to lightly lick against the seam of her closed mouth – seeking entry. Clutched tightly at the pockets of my shirt, her hands curled like claws – Addy deliciously scraped her nails across the skin of my muscled chest. Momentarily pulled from my trance, I hesitated, stilling my heated ministrations and inelegantly releasing her – arms straightened and out to my sides. Unexpectedly, I felt something I had not experienced in centuries… contrition.

 _By the Gods, what the fuck was I doing?_

Guilt slithered through my lust-addled mind as I waited for her to push me away.

But much to my surprise, Addy drew me closer to her instead, and began to lightly gyrate her hips against mine. Painfully holding my itching fangs at bay, I once again wrapped her possessively in my arms, covering her partially opened mouth with mine as our tongues stroked one other exploratively – sensuously. _She really does taste like sunlight_. Head swimming in hedonistic pleasure, my nerves alit with fire, I could not resist the urge to press my leg between hers, to supply the friction her trembling body was obviously seeking as she whimpered wantonly against my mouth. Her low throaty moans were sending spine-tingling thunderbolts through my already electrified nerves and down to my hardened aching cock.

She was _definitely_ going to be the death of me.

Then – suddenly, with my name on her lips – Addy erupted into euphoric bliss.

"Mmmm… Ohhhhh… _Eric_!"

 _Fucking beautiful_.

Still twitching autonomically in my arms, Addy's form vibrated unsteadily – her apparently necessary breath coming out in short pants – as her glazed-over and cloudy eyes regained clarity – lucidity. She blinked several times, her lengthy bare lashes fluttering over and over as she tried to regain her usual level of composure, the one that she had lost only moments ago. While we had never exchanged more than a few words – my preference skewed permanently towards silence – the atmosphere was uncomfortably deafening as Addy untangled herself from my embrace. Wordlessly, she offered me little more than a tight smile, refusing to meet my eyes before she put a small distance between us.

Was she embarrassed by what had occurred?

Surely, that was not the case.

"I should…"

Addy mumbled as she finger-combed her mussed-up hair, gesturing towards the Great Room in a feeble attempt to bring about an end to our interaction – a tactic I intentionally ignored.

"They're all waiting for me, for the… rest of the party stuff? I mean, obviously. So yeah…"

"Go then."

I grumbled determinedly, the previously raging fire in my loins reduced to mere ashes as she scurried away from me – likely perturbed by my capriciousness.

I was acting as badly as a tantruming human child.

Sadly, I often did in her presence.

"Eric?"

Addy asked nervously, thankfully overlooking my brusqueness – her hand curled around the jam – turning back from her hasty retreat to finally make eye contact for the first time post-kiss.

"Yes, Addy?"

"I really enjoyed… _this_ – _that_ too," she amended timidly, twirling her hair about her finger, "Of course, _THAT_ too for sure! But, you know, also _this_ – you and me talking, dancing – generally just getting along. We don't do this enough, spend time together. We should do that more. Ugh, I mean _this,_ but maybe also _that_. But not _that_ , if you dun want to…"

She had begun to nervously ramble, and I realized she worried I might avoid her again – like I had done post-carnival.

So I swiftly sought to remove her nagging doubts.

"I want to, Addy," I agreed completely, interrupting her perhaps rudely, but with purpose, "You are right. _This_ , but also _that,_ was quite nice," _Had I ever been party to such an awkward conversation, save Thalia – obviously_ , "Perhaps we should consider making time to do _both_ in the foreseeable future."

Ideally _after_ she agreed to leave with Thalia, but before she started the Trials.

Even though I had nothing but confidence she would survive them.

My maker's child beamed brightly before skipping back to the Great Room – her excited grin assuredly genuine this time. I had done that, made her happy – not the demon or Godric. _Me_! Knowing that I had affected her in such a way birthed the same fluttering feeling in my gut that I had experienced during our trip to the carnival. But this time I openly embraced it, letting it wash over me despite my discomfort – instead of seeking to destroy it as I had done before.

Progress.

That felt a lot like progress.

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

As I ambled back into the Great Room, Godric was quick to pull me aside, and into the opened space that Addy and I had made our dancing floor. Just thinking about having her in my arms, physically close to me had my mind whirring like a machine and my body reacting like a human teenaged boy. Surreptitiously, I blocked my tie to my fader before my feelings of longing and lust could travel across it.

I had no intentions to explain to him what had happened between Addy and I in the kitchen.

It was our business, and our business alone.

"You have brought your _sister_ a birthday present, as is customary – correct?"

Godric over-emphasized the word ' _sister'_ intentionally, assuredly irritated with me – the clench in my maker's jaw displaying his displeasure even though he otherwise seemed calm and collected.

Producing the small pouch from my pocket, I nodded my assent while at the same time presenting it to him for scrutiny. He grabbed for it at vamp speed, moving it from hand to hand as if to ascertain its contents by weighing the small parcel. Holding the edge almost gingerly, as though the bag's existence was mildly offensive to him, he bluntly shared his unbidden opinion.

"Seems small, broder. She is _eighteen_. It is a pivotal milestone in the life of a human..."

"She is _not_ human."

I sneered impolitely, seeking to remind my maker not only of our earlier exchange but that his newest progeny was vampire – a fact he seemed to have forgotten or, at least, was keen to disregard.

"Do _NOT_ start again, Eric," he growled warningly, our tie thrumming with his irritation, "We will continue our discussion later, once Sookie's party has concluded – and not one minute before."

My gift still in hand, Godric blurred over to the breakfront, removing what I imagined was his own – a brightly wrapped box topped with a shiny red bow. After adding both to the meager pile on the glass coffee table, he stood a little off to the side, watching with rapt attention as Addy opened first the demon's and then the dog's laser-etched plastic gifts. Exuding nothing short of glee, Godric was practically quaking with excitement as he lifted his own benefaction and offered it to Addy.

"Merry Day of Human Birth, Dotter."

"New running shoes! Thank you!"

Emitting a high-pitched sound I had certainly never heard her make, Addy leapt up from her seated position and threw her arms about Godric.

As she draped herself around him, instead of flinching away, my maker eagerly returned her open embrace – smiling softly until he inhaled her scent wistfully.

Then displeasure momentarily swept over his countenance.

She smelled of me – _of course she did_ – since we had been pawing at one another only moments before – something I very much wanted to do again. Scanning the room, Pam caught my gaze and quirked a single eyebrow, a gesture that was synonymous with _busted_. I stifled the urge to groan, simultaneously grateful that Addy's maker-child bond with Godric was small by nature – he likely had not felt _anything_ from her, even as she shattered in my arms – but irritated that I had not even considered blocking my own feelings of lust and excitement from Pam.

Or my fader, for that matter.

Fuck! I had not intended for him to find out this way, or at all.

Disengaging from their hug to reclaim her previous position, Addy ignored – or possibly did not glimpse – the harsh scowl Godric flashed me as he regained his own. Words would be had later, it said. _Good, we needed to fucking talk_. A light din of conversation rose and permeated the opened space as Addy's guests resumed their earlier conversations, all parties acting as though the ceremonial gift-giving event had concluded.

Despite the fact that one gift still remained.

My own.

As Addy's eyes lost their focus, fluttering to a close, she began to almost reverently trace her fingers across her lips. _Was she recalling our kiss?_ Just the thought that she _might_ be replaying our kitchen rendezvous in my mind made my cock swell and twitch, forcing me to adjust myself discreetly. Well, as subtly as possible in a den full of vampires and supes.

 _Addy has acquired quite an eclectic collection of friends_ , I thought to myself.

Secretly, I was glad to be counted among them.

"Sookie?"

Godric asked pointedly, displeased that she had not actually completed the human ritual he had sought to recreate – that she had moved on to other things.

Like thinking of me.

At least, I hoped that was what she was doing.

"Hmm?"

Addy hummed back distractedly, seductively ghosting fingertips over her buxom lips – first the bottom, and then the top – eyes still closed as she lightly bobbed her head.

"Sookie."

Godric admonished abruptly, snapping his progeny out of her reverie – her eyes snapping open and then flitting about the room before she shrugged her shoulders confusedly.

Privately, my maker had always been mercurial in nature, but _especially_ when Addy was concerned.

Tonight was no exception.

"Eric got you a present, kid. Open it!"

The demon encouraged playfully – _did he always have to touch her_ – I sneered in my mind as he bumped his shoulder into hers before pointing squarely at my still unopened present.

She had missed it – the shock in her blue eyes shining her surprise clearly.

In Addy's defense, I _had_ wrapped it myself.

As her hands vibrated unsteadily – so minutely it could only be perceived by vampiric eyes – she gingerly picked up my haphazardly dressed gift and transferred it to her lap. Lightly tugging at the knotted tie, instead of simply ripping through the papered enclosure as I had expected her to do, she experienced a fair amount of resistance from the red-ribboned fastening. Why she took such care at all I could not fathom. Despite my overwhelming urge to intervene, I allowed her to continue to try to finagle the tight loop, frustrated as she found nothing other than failure.

I had just about reached the edge of my patience when she finally unraveled it, revealing her gift.

Gasping – _loudly –_ her eyes instantly flew to mine before moving to gaze at the car key again.

Then she slapped her hand over it, cupping it from view. I furrowed by brow, confused but also irritated by her display. _Did she not like it?_ Pam had told me that she read in one of the many human advisement columns she consumed that a vehicle was a customary gift to give when the recipient reached their eighteenth year, denoting personhood separate from their parental units. To celebrate their freedom.

Which was what I aimed to ultimately give her.

Since by vampire law, she would gain her full rights once she completed the Trials.

"C'mon, Adds. What is it? We wanna see!"

The dog enthused eagerly – _again, if he had a tail right now, it would be wagging_ – as he moved to tower over Addy and tried to peer through her closed hand – as she obviated the key from view.

"Yeah, kid. You don't gotta play up the suspense! We're interested, we swear!"

The demon-not-boyfriend teased, trying to touch her again – forcing me to tamp down the hiss that climbed into my throat – as Addy brusquely batted his hands away from her lap.

"Yes, Sookie _. Show_ us." Godric demanded determinedly, rising from his seated position on the loveseat to tower over his progeny, "What is it? What has your brother gifted you?"

He had emphasized the word ' _brother'_ just to irk me.

I was sure of it.

My progeny Pam yawned needlessly – garnering herself a disapproving glare from Thalia – as she fussily picked at the increasingly-chipped polish on her otherwise pristine nails.

This was Pam's hell.

Sadly, it was quickly becoming mine too.

"It is a key – a car key to be precise – to a Porsche Cayman, which will be delivered tomorrow night."

I intervened unaffectedly, reveling in the feeling of Addy's warmth when her arm brushed against mine as I lifted my goblet of donated blood to my pursed lips.

With the surprise already ruined, Addy lifted her cupped hand, threading her finger through the fob's ring to hold up the key for all to see. Both the demon's and the dog's eyes went wide moments before they all but cheered – the familiar emblem providing undeniable proof of my earlier explanation. _Had they counted me as a liar when I said I had purchased her a Porsche? Assholes._ While Addy stared at Godric – her own expression as blank as his – and her bunch of strays resumed their trivial chattering, I let my mind wander, mulling over what my maker had shared with me after the fairy attack.

' _She breathes; her heart beats…'_

 _'Sometimes, she will even spend hours basking in the glow of the midday sun…'_

Min lilla faerie had been blessed with _all_ kinds of gifts it seemed.

So many, in fact, I could not help but wonder darkly if she was hiding any more.

* * *

"Eric, do you really think this is the wisest course of action?"

Pam questioned me concernedly, her worry transmitting through our bond despite the blank expression donning her angelic-looking face.

I myself had thought the same thing multiple times throughout this night.

But especially after the demon, despite it being his house, had left.

Knowing that even _he_ saw the coming maelstrom as I did unnerved me, increasingly so – but especially since I was sure he had alerted Addy to the fact that something was brewing. He was like a brother to her, per her own admission – and I believed that truly was the nature of their relationship – so I was sure he had given her ample warning that unavoidable turmoil was headed her way. Her sidelong and narrowed glances my direction before walking outside with the dog and demon – overnight bags in hand – as she sought to cover her tired yawns, confirmed it for me.

Proving her trust in me was expectedly low.

But perhaps – and unexpectedly – even lower when it came to her maker, apparently.

"Okay, spill – _both_ of you."

Addy demanded assertively – hands positioned firmly on her shapely hips – after she and Godric walked back into the Great Room, both having bidden goodbye to the other supes as they exited the abode.

"Because you two hanging around acting all broody and butt-hurt for the next hour before the sun comes really isn't gonna work for me."

Pam's overwhelming amusement choked out our normally placid bond, despite the fact that her face remained completely blank and composed.

Regardless of her sometimes bratty ways, my child really _was_ an exceptional vampire.

Just like my maker's was.

"Sookie…"

"Uh-uh. Not this time, mister." She interrupted sharply, cutting Godric off as she shook her head in dissent, "You always do this, Ezra, and honestly I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired about it. Now we're all gonna talk about what the hell happened earlier – whether you like it or not."

Godric waved his hand, wordlessly bidding Addy to sit – an entreaty she relented to with an agitated huff. Taking the seat opposite to mine and Godric's, a reclining chair obviously picked for comfort and not at all for looks, she sat down and drew her legs up against her chest. Twisting in a way that highlighted her flexibility – _yummy_ – she finally settled, resting her cheek against the back of the hideous piece of furniture, letting it envelope her like a human comfort blanket. How I had overlooked the orange monstrosity's existence earlier tonight I could not say, but I noted that it was likely an object borne of Addy's affection.

Had she had something similar at her home in Dallas?

Truly, I wanted to know.

"My…I guess, _adopted_ … great-grandmother owned this chair," Addy offered softly and without provocation, perhaps in response to my sneer, "And while it may be an _eye-sore_ , I love it. It's the thing I picked out from her home for my own when she died. That and a faucet," she laughed, obviously recalling a humorous memory I was not privy to, "I think that's in the attic now. I don't even remember why I wanted it – or this god awful thing, for that matter," she laughed, "but it's nice having some things from my old life, you know?"

This Addy was markedly more loquacious than the one who had lived in my home.

During the time she was missing, she had changed a lot – grown.

"Alright, enough about me and my ugly chair," Addy joked lightly before sitting up a little straighter and squaring her shoulders, "Let's get down to brass tacks…"

"Real quick, sweet pea," Pam interjected, reminding all of us of her and Thalia's presence, "We may be out in the middle of goddamn nowhere, but I for one would like to try to find a decent meal before bed. No offense to your bagged blood diet, Addy, but it simply just doesn't do it for me."

The little Greek vampire grunted her agreement from her almost vigil-like position at the window.

"Take Thalia with you."

I responded promptly, giving Pam permission to hunt – although I knew she was _really_ asking to be excused from what she anticipated to be a tumultuous conversation.

 _Clever, clever woman, my child._

It was a shame that she had recently overshadowed her best qualities by acting so spoilt.

The two blurred from the room without fanfare. A loud _bam_ echoed through the Great Room as the thin screen door slammed harshly against its jamb, signaling their exit. The atmosphere quickly shifted from uncomfortable to stifling as the three of us sat in relative silence – cicadas humming their buzzing songs from somewhere out in the dusty field.

Nothing was said for minutes.

An eerie calm washing over us, seemingly before the perfect storm.

"Okay, seriously, let's all put on our big boy pants here, and get down to business. We're running out of moonlight."

Addy sighed exasperatedly, slicing swiftly through the thick tension as though she had swung a knife – again, with one of her signature idioms.

After inhaling and exhaling an unnecessary breath, Godric began to explain to his progeny every single thing he knew about fairies – including a couple of things I had never heard – surprising me with this candor. _She truly_ was _his only weakness_. My face a mask of indifference, I inconspicuously volleyed my attentions between the two of them, expertly reading each small twitch and tic – their tells.

All in all, it appeared that Addy was taking everything fairly well.

Albeit, a little _too_ well.

"And their teeth? Why did it matter what color they were?"

This time Godric paused, trepidation spilling into our bond. None of this was going as expected. For the first time since the beginning of this exchange, I felt very much like an interloper intruding on what perhaps should have been a private moment. The last time I had seen my maker so… _afraid_ , Addy had been unconscious and dying in my arms; he had been fearful – openly terrified – he would lose her.

Witnessing my fader act more human than he had in a millennia had borne a similar emotion in me.

Just as it was doing now.

"Vampires," he spoke slowly, the usually present authority absent from his tone, "are not able to tolerate the touch of silver. It poisons us, especially if it makes contact with our bloodstream. It is why I applied my blood to your wounds, to help cleanse them."

"I'm… allergic to silver, and you didn't tell me?"

Now Addy was on her feet, but not pacing, which would have been the normal thing to do given the weight of his declaration. Of course, Addy was not _normal_ by any stretch of the imagination; she was extraordinary. Instead, she walked over to the window and began to trace her finger over a few of the trails of condensation on the outside – rain. _It must have just started_ , I thought as it pelted against the roof at a rapidly increasing speed.

Internally, I groaned when I realized that my progeny would be caught in the downpour.

A wet Pam was infinitely more insufferable than a dry one.

The air again became heavy as Addy peered silently out the window – her blue eyes wide as if trying to take everything in – watching like an awestruck human child while moisture fell onto the previously dry field. _She is neither human, nor a child_ , my mind chided me as memories from my earlier argument with Godric about her going with Thalia to Europe flooded my thoughts. No, a _kid_ – as her demon had unsuitably nicknamed her – would have stamped her foot at our maker's profession, thrown something, or simply stormed out.

Instead she was contemplative, pensive.

Utterly unexplosive.

"I want to go with Thalia. When she leaves with Pam, I want to go with her."

She finally said, turning from the window to look at me and Godric, her alabaster face completely devoid of any and all expression – her coral-tinged lips pressed into a firm line.

"The Trials…"

I sputtered out inelegantly, as lightning flashed across the sky, stunned momentarily by what Addy had said – it was as if she had been reading my mind.

 _Impossible._

I thought definitively, dismissing the errant and unamusing notion just as Addy asked curiously.

"The what now?"

"Every vampire must complete the Trials before they reach one hundred years."

Godric answered suddenly, rising from his seated position to join Addy next to the window – his eyes pleading and contrite as the thundering rainstorm began to slow.

 _He is trying to take his first step_ – I realized quickly – _towards earning back her trust_.

So I stilled my tongue, although I was eager to speak.

"It is a series of tests, to put it mildly. A battle royal of sorts intended to confirm that the recently-turned vampire can indeed survive, and is deserving of the gift they have been given. Those who fail the Trials… they are culled – delivered what is termed the True Death – immediately and without mercy or measure. Your br… Eric believes that, under Thalia's tutelage, you will be readied to face them when they commence this winter, before you have even been turned vampire for a year. It is quite unheard of to send a progeny while she is still so young, not that age provides any guarantee. Even Eric lost his first son there, and he was aged just shy of ninety years…"

At three months old, Addy had already proven she was more vampire than Thad had sadly _ever_ been.

In fact, I had no doubts that she would pass the Trials with ease.

"Okay, I want to do _that_ then."

Without preamble or additional question, Addy eagerly agreed to literally fight for her life in just under six months' worth of time – so perhaps she really did have a death wish after all.

 _By the Gods, I sincerely hope not._

* * *

 **xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

* * *

Eyes snapping open and wide, I woke awash in consuming darkness – grateful the sun's rays were completely obviated by light-tight shutters – since I could feel that it was just now descending towards the horizon of the Texas sky. As I rose to my feet, I tapped lightly at each of my bonds, nonplussed to discover that while Pam was still dead to the world, Godric was conscious as well – our tie drumming with his unease. Sighing needlessly, I dressed for the night before heading towards the bedroom door.

Hand curled around the knob, I opened the exit slowly – just in case – pleased to find that the hallway was thoroughly dark as well.

I had never enjoyed being confined in the room I slept in until sunset.

"There are anti-UV, exposure-proof coverings pasted onto all the windows – so don't worry about coming in here, Eric. Kid actually insisted they be added throughout the house before she moved in."

The demon called out to me while I hovered outside the kitchen's jamb, likely sensing my hesitation via his empathic abilities as I neared the house's only sunlit space.

Walking into the room at an unnervingly human clip – my trust in Addy's friend tenuous at best – I spied the jack… Jax leaning against the counter, blowing at a steaming coffee cup clasped tightly in his grip as he gazed out the window – seemingly off and into space. Testing the hazy beams filtering through the supposedly-tinted glass – using appendages I was willing to damage, or possibly lose – I stifled the urge to balk in surprise as my fingers did not burn, or even tingle. Undoubtedly, Addy had not done this for herself _. S_ he _more_ than tolerated the sun's violent ways – she _basked_ in it.

No, this had been a precaution taken expressly for her vampire brethren.

 _What an amazingly thoughtful creature_.

"And you obliged her request?"

I queried curiously, striding now confidently across the patterned linoleum-floor towards the white-colored fridge, opening it to search for some of the bagged blood _she_ had always preferred.

"Of all things, _that's_ what you wanna ask me? If I gave into her whims and fancies? _Obviously_ , I did."

Jax rejoined grinning, turning towards me only briefly before returning his eyes to whatever had captured his attentions outside – sipping his hot beverage casually, but with purpose.

It seemed quite late in the day to be indulging in a caffeinated beverage.

Perhaps it was something markedly _stronger_.

Pulling a quarter-filled decanter of red-hued liquid off the top shelf, I shut the icebox door and set the container on the counter. Opening the closest cabinets, I found myself frustrated – _where the fuck were the glasses?_ Damning propriety, I removed the stopper and lifted the curved glass vessel to my lips, downing the last of the chilled sustenance with puckered lips just as the demon placed a small etched cup in front of me.

"We keep them in the cabinet opposite. What? I like to get my steps."

Jax shrugged unapologetically, leaving the receptacle where he had laid it almost absentmindedly before resuming his previous station – his stalwart watch grabbing my interest.

" _What_ is out there?"

I asked curtly, tamping down the urge to allow wariness to seep into my tone as I vamped towards the window and wrenched the lacey-doiled curtain back myself.

It was _her_ – Addy – sitting cross-legged, looking breathtaking as she peered up at the sun.

Suddenly, thin streaks of fresh crimson tears began to spill down her cheeks, to stain her beautiful face.

"You better take care of her this time, Eric. She's nowhere near as strong as she tries to appear to be."

The demon advised dejectedly, patting my shoulder as he set down his drink – the stench of bourbon mixed with honey inescapable and sharp – before running outside to pick up Addy bridal-style.

Wetting the towel hanging off the oven's door, I waited impatiently for him to carry her inside.

 _Of course,_ I _would take care of her_.

I thought to myself as the demon transferred Addy into my arms, and I began to wipe away the sadness obscuring her beautiful visage – her wide-beaming smile collecting one of my own in return.

I would _always_ look after this enchanting woman who had crept stealthily into my heart – _nothing_ was ever going to hurt her.

Not while I was still around.


End file.
